


Triumphs of a Lesser God, Revisited

by darkrabbit



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dean Winchester - Freeform, Eleventh Doctor/Jack Harkness - Freeform, Lucifer - Freeform, M/M, Michael - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, Raphael - Freeform, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Spiritual, Supernatural - Freeform, The Cartmel Masterplan, castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-16
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrabbit/pseuds/darkrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eleven is pregnant with Jack's child, and they are actively a couple. After a relatively pleasant visit to Gwen and Rhys's to see little Anwen, the two are embroiled in what seems to be a Holy War…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after looking at how the first version was going... this is an alternate version, roughly the same idea, but different in ways which facilitated its induction as a separate story. I kept both versions because they are different in style, in a way. Perhaps someone, including myself (I am still quite rubbish at developing secondary characters I'm not interested in as much when I am obsessed with the main one- and I'm ALWAYS obsessed with the main one - the Doctor, duh)will be able to learn from the errors I am certain to have made. Both stories are one-offs, and not necessarily attached to any of my other stories. That said, enjoy!

For the first time in forever, Jack Harkness smiled.

 

His Time Lord, his Doctor, was sleepful in his lap, bony back snuggled against Jack’s chest. There was nothing quite like it in all the worlds, he thought, as he reached around to brush a crumb of pastry crust from the alien’s face.

 

 Oh yes, it had been a lovely pie, golden brown and filled with brie and apple, what little Jack had seen of it. Being pregnant had really driven his favorite extraterrestrial’s appetite to new extremes. This incarnation, -the eleventh- was eleven months gone, and so very beautiful. It was enough to drive any sane man mad, the way that floppy hair fell just right across the temples, skirting laugh lines that fed into sunken orbs of olive green so deep one could drown forever and be happy about it. And those lovely articulate big bones were no slouch of construction, either. But ah, it was what wore those bones that mattered. The man behind the mask, who wore each cage of sweet, sweet flesh with such glorious abandon. The strong, roundish chin and squarish jaw were nice too, Jack reasoned as he cupped them both, then set about exploring his other favorite places.

 

They were both still naked, gift wrapped with the bed linens in places, uncovered in others, rather like presents at Christmas. The Doctor stirred briefly, breathing against Jack’s hand when it fell across his mouth…the impossible human fancied he could hear bells there, hidden in the song of that faceted voice he’d craved since, oh, so many yesterdays ago. Some days he thought perhaps he’d wanted this before he knew he had, as though he’d been searching for what and who had found him that day above Britain his entire life.

 

The four-poster Victorian bed, with its white linens and dark wood, was wide and long, more than enough for two ancient-eyed little boys playing house. Suddenly the Time Lord’s leg slipped from its perch across Jack’s own, so the Time Agent reached carefully around his lover, moving the offending limb close again, leading the bony hip into careful alignment with his own so the leg would straighten and fall blissfully slack again. It would be a sin to wake the man now, he realized, as he cupped fore and thumb over a stretch of the Doctor’s soft white thigh and moaned a random pet name into the Doctor’s neck. The fact that his favorite alien was seated far too near his manhood for a proper one man salute would be a nice challenge, but for the sake of chivalry, Jack decided not to shift anything larger than his thoughts for just a little longer, enjoying his dessert, the milk and sugary lump of Time Lord snoozing in his lap.

 

Jack had been sitting cross-legged for several hours, back against the headboard and one leg out, ready to stabilize the alien just in case he took the wrong tilt on his way out of dreamland. And all that time the Doctor had slept in the crook of his body, happy and swollen and dead to the world. Pregnant. The Time Agent still couldn’t quite grasp that the alien was with child. Fatherly pride not-withstanding, Jack knew the real miracle was that life had taken root at all. The Doctor had always said his race had been cursed with sterility in the first Great War, yet the alien’s growing mound of belly was full with the counterproof.  

 

“You’re amazing, Theta Sigma,” he murmured, craning his neck to whisper in the Doctor’s ear. Then he wrapped his arms around his Time Lord’s chest and sighed into his hair, settling the alien’s prostrate self against him again, and damned if the man didn’t mewl in his sleep… an impatient kitten.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, they told us to bring him, Rhys. It isn’t as though the Doctor will eat him. Probably the other way round! I’ve met him before, in one of his previous bodies. The man collects children like Jack collects…” Gwen paused, inclining her head to her Rhys with a knowing glance, “…well we all know what Jack collects.”

 

Rhys sniffed. “ I just don’t want that alien collectin’ our little Anwen out his crib in the night, yeah?”

 

“Oh you!” Gwen patted his shoulder and sighed as she fried a bit of toast in the pan she’d heated. “That alien has a name, the Doctor, and he’s a very decent type; besides, he’s pregnant. S’why I’ve got to get a bit of something done up before hand. Jack called ahead, said the poor thing never stops eating.”

 

Rhys watched as his wife balanced their son on one hip and dropped an egg into the hole she’d cut in the toast with the other. The whites fried and bubbled through the bread, the solid yellow of thick yolk warming instantly in the hot oil. Where had she learned to cook? When he’d first met her, she hadn’t the skill of a dog at the rubbish bin in the kitchen. The memory made him smile.

 

“Well, Missus Williams, it’s just that Jack’s other friends are sometimes, well… not his friends. And I know almost as well as you that our Anwen was hard to come by. Ah, what’s that racket? Sounds like a… freight train coughing up a bolus a’ sheet metal!”

 

whirrrRRRRrrrr-whirrrRRRRRrrrr-whirrrRRRRRrrrr

 

Gwen snorted her laughter at him then paused to listen, cocking her head to the window with a twist of her dark hair. “That’d be our guests, Mister Williams. Ah, plate this would you love?” She said, settling the drowsy two year old onto the other hip, “I want them to meet Anwen straight away.”

 

\---

 

With a raise of bare eyebrows at his human lover, the Doctor reached for the TARDIS double doors and stepped outside, grinning when he felt the cool breeze against his skin. Soon after he felt Jack’s arm around him, wrapping an obligatory thick striped scarf about his exposed neck. He’d chosen all right, he supposed, a soft blue and yellow plaid-on-white shirt left open over a somewhat tight white tank so thin his navel nearly pierced it, paired with a dark pair of boot cut denim jeans, rolled up into tall cuffs. And slippers, nice yellow fuzzy ducks that warmed his toes. Not that his toes needed warming, but well, the human in the room kept at him about it, so…

 

Jack sighed and stepped out in front, turning to do up two more buttons on the Time Lord’s softly fluttering shirt.

 

“You’re the death of me, Doctor, and you always will be,” he murmured, indicating the alien’s gravidity with a quick up-down sweep of his hand, “What were you looking at, before I so lewdly interrupted?”

 

The Doctor groaned, clapped his big hands to Jack’s ears, and boxed him soundly.  

 

“ Oh, nothing. ‘was looking up at this fine October sky, thinking of River, the future Missus Me. She’d die to see me in this state, let me assure you,” He paused, touched his stomach and gave a little wince as he considered the ramifications. “Oh yessiree, and Bob’s yer uncle. That woman would whip out half a dozen camera phones and fill them with choice blackmail material. And sweet Amelia would rope poor Rory into helping her. I’d have to gag the lot, tie them like vicious mutineers to their beds and haul them around on our little trips, because they’d never stop giggling long enough to walk.”

 

Jack doubled over, clutching his sides as a sudden roar of laughter threatened to sucker punch his washboard abs.

 

A door opened; dark haired Gwen Williams walked out, holding her young son Anwen, his round little face peeking sleepily from the edges of a fuzzy duck suit which matched the Doctor’s slippers a bit too perfectly.

 

The alien’s face perked at the sight of the baby, and the cool fall air seemed to crackle with his delight.

 

“Oh, would you look at…” he  breathed, brows pursing at every little detail. Then he rubbed his own belly and smiled, looking over at Jack and puffing out his cheeks, “…that! Cute as a bug, this one.”

 

Jack couldn’t keep himself from shaking his head in wonder as he watched the Time Lord reach out to shake Gwen’s hand.

 

“And I thought you were ecstatic when you first saw him, Gwennie,” the Time Agent said, his mouth curving in a crooked grin as he gazed at his former employee. His former lover.

 

The Doctor was still staring at Anwen when Gwen took his elbow and ushered him inside the apartment first, with Jack following behind to help with any difficult step-ups.

 

\---

 

“Come on, love, let’s get something on your stomach. Jack tells me you’re eating all the time now, yeah?” she said as she grinned at Rhys, who shrugged and shoved the plateful of eggs-in-a-basket toward the Time Lord, whose tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and whose lips were trying unsuccessfully to shove it back in.

 

“So, ah, Doctor, how many –are- you eating for? You look a bit ah, full for just one.”  

 

Gwen and Jack exchanged blank looks with the ether as the alien ignored everything in favor of the large portion of food staring back at him from the plain white plate. Then, winking quickly at Rhys, he held up two fingers and a hidden third on the sly, grinning with eyes all a’sparkle.

 

“Mm, now doesn’t that look delish? Although at times like this I wish I only had one stomach instead of three... I’d be truly devastated if I pulled a Hansel and Gretel and ate you out of house and home.”

 

Then, done with the work of talking for the moment,  the Doctor sighed, picked up a fork, and stuck it with delicate care under a piece of runny yellow yolk just as it tried to escape the closest available corner of golden fried toast, then made a hefty cut in the crispy edge. Tossing a wide-nostrilled smirk at Rhys, he stuffed the fork in his mouth, then made to speak again in a relative attempt at civility, hiding his eggy chompers behind his hand.

 

“Ohhh thith ith th’ awethome! Fank you Gwennie! –swallow- Lord but I’m famished. What are we having for dinner? Jack mentioned those little sausages they use for all sorts of nibbles at parties… I love nibbles.”

 

Another voice chimed in, and the door closed softly behind one Doctor Martha Smith and her husband, Mickey.

 

“We know, believe it,” said Martha, holding up several large bags of cocktail wieners as she kicked her smirking husband on the foot, “I still remember what Rose told me about that time you both dressed as servants for Jackie’s gala on Pete’s World.”

 

The Doctor froze, then dropped his fork hard onto his plate and slumped, instantly deflating back into his chair; everyone sagged, holding a collective breath. Quite possibly this had been the wrong thing to say.

 

“Oh god, Doctor, I…” Martha clapped a hand to her mouth, her gloved hand wet and glaucous from traces of an early snow.

 

But the alien just breathed deeply once or twice. Silent, pensive, he rose from his seat, one hand on his distended middle, and waddled over to her. He held out his arms, brushed her cold-bitten cheek with his cool, cool fingers and said, “Not to worry, Martha. My Rose got what she wanted in the Doctor-Donna. A Me who could stay. All that’s… done with now; hells, they’re probably running Jackie ragged as we speak. Yaha! Oh if walls between universes could talk! In fact, I… oh no nevermind.”

 

Then he swayed fluidly away from her embrace and ambled back to his chair and his second breakfast, gunning for the remains of the food on the plate as any woman in his state might have done. He sat down, rubbed his stomach for a moment, then picked up his fork again. Of course, he knew it was no good. Mention of Rose had killed his appetite dead. So he sighed, then set the fork and unused table knife across the top of the plate and pushed it toward Rhys, who nodded like a man who’d just eaten a live cat.

 

Jack set his fingers to the swift line of the Time Lord’s collarbone, offering strength, touch, love, a hand to hold, whatever the man might need, he would give it.

 

“Rhys, Gwen, I’d…  I want to hold that boy of yours, if that’s all right. Get a feel for the business of child-rearing again. I need to…” he shivered involuntarily, then let his head loll, and Jack choked on a sharp pang of concern, knowing that Time Lords did not regulate temperature in all the ways a human would.

 

But the Doctor exhaled a long breath, bore his head up to all the worried faces and smiled.

 

“I’m fine, you silly humans. I just…I need to remember what it feels like, to care for something so small. Gallifrey spun its children out fully formed and well on their way. So there was never any childhood, not really. They stole us away at nine years of age and practically glued our feet to the line, so we would look into the Untempered Schism and see all of Time and Space. That knowledge… it burrows into your mind and stays there. And you are never without it. That is why…” he paled for a moment, his green eyes burning with ancient fire as his lips struggled to bring forth the last words, “… that is why I will absolutely, positively never in a million years allow whoever results from this pregnancy to ever become a Time Lord.”

 

Then he choked off a cry and squeezed the bridge of his considerable nose, the motion hiding more than a few tears from the adoring masses. “Oh sorry, it’s the hormones, yeah?” he murmured, red-faced as he pushed up from the table. “I’m really quite swell. Don’t pay it any attention, none at all!”

 

Jack nodded reassuringly at the others only after satisfying himself that the outburst was only what it seemed, a last look from the Doctor -meant only for him- proclaiming the distinct absence of a devil in the details. But just the same, because he wouldn’t ever, he never moved his hand. “Come on, Old Thing,” he murmured, rescuing the distraught alien from the sea of swerving faces and guiding him to a couch, “I think it’s time for a kip.”

 

No one else moved for a New York minute.


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm really all right, y'know," the Doctor murmured helplessly between moans, feeling the push and pull of usually wanton fingers against his holes, his cracks. His gaping crevasses. His wounds. His hard flesh moved over him in time to the pulsing rhythm of those wonderfully talented fingers, the hands that kneaded and pulled and adjusted all sorts of things he'd forgotten he had. He kept saying he didn't need any help, but oh he could get used to this. He was a sack of bones under these hands that were rubbing him now, all skin and meat and water, trussed up like a chicken ready for the oven. Or the fryer. And at the moment, he really didn't care which was the more accurate description. The oil was hot on his skin; a welcome swirling wave of warm greasy goodness that just wouldn't stop. It swept over him in tides of pure comfort, easing aching muscles, tearing away pains he hadn't realized he'd acquired in this body's short life.

 

"Jack," he said finally, raising up from Gwen's ministrations just enough to catch Jack's pretty blue eyes.

 

The Time Agent was standing in the doorway, looking down at him. He was smiling. He was happy.

 

It was good to see Jack smile, the Time Lord thought as he stood up from the borrowed massage chair. He cracked his neck to both sides, rolled his shoulders, then closed his eyes, enjoying the cold air from the window as it struck the remnants of thyme-and-comfrey oil on his back. Then, for some reason, he looked at the open window and remembered the Star Whale.

 

Jack was holding him before he could breathe; Gobs. He must have started tearing up again. Sniffing, he leaned into the man, nuzzling shamelessly into that nice warm chest. The air from the window was cold, after all. Personally he could have stayed there for quite a while, face smushed into his favorite example of triumph over adversity's nipples. But he shrugged away and went to close the window himself, sparing a glance toward the living room where Anwen was wandering about on the rug in a bit of a playpen. Gwen was never two feet away from the little thing, and Rhys was never two feet from her. It was pleasant to consider. Soon, she was turning from the sink, her hands twisting around a paper towel. She'd never said a word, just gone to the tap and washed. The woman was brilliant.

 

Suddenly, Anwen had gone from the adjacent room; the Doctor froze, then slowly released the unspent breath as he felt tiny hands and arms and folds wrap around his denimed ankle. Then, swallowing a raucous laugh, he carefully shifted his weight to his other foot. The little boy was warming up to him after his hormone moment the day before. The solution was obvious. Someone was going to have to sit on Uncle Doctor's lap.

 

"Jack. Gwen. Look down…" he whispered, trying to bite back a crazy-happy smile and failing miserably.

 

The man and woman both held their collective breath, eyes drawing over his stomach even as he waved them off, his finger furiously bobbing up and down between their gazes and the two year old chewing on his ankle.

 

"They always find me; I'm a kid-magnet," said the Time Lord, who shrugged as Jack settled him into Gwen and Rhys's nice couch again. He pulled his feet up cross legged onto the thick cushion, the crown of his stomach nearly snug against his knees, "…say, what're you on about, chewing off my foot?" he continued, mock frowning and holding his arms out wide for the chirping tot as Gwen lifted the baby up from the floor and settled him in an open spot near the alien's right elbow.

 

"Oh my giddy aunt, I never could stand this much cute in one place."

 

Finally destroyed by the onslaught of parental joy, the Doctor looked through lowered eyelashes at Jack, who took that opportunity to collapse into a hearty belly laugh. A smile cracked over both their faces, and they looked at Anwen, then at the fullness of life where it grew beneath his extra ribs.

 

"Do you want to tell me how many yet, Thete, or shall I guess?" Jack asked, moving to sit beside his alien just as the Doctor started poking at Anwen with a napkin he'd tied up to look like a noseless dog.

 

All at once, a pallor stole across the Time Lord's face, forcing his free hand to his stomach. Fuzzy-headed Anwen noticed this and frowned, patting the alien's body with his tiny fingers. His fingers seemed querulous, his body quivering and wet as he sank into the couch cushion, his eyes drawing deeper and deeper into his skull than he'd ever thought possible. Somehow, before the room began to swim he managed to plant a kiss on the child's forehead, using quick and dirty telepathy to calm him before Jack scooped the little boy up and handed him to Gwen. Then the Time Agent practically fell toward the couch, his own long fingers scrambling for the Time Lord's hand.

 

The Doctor bit back a scream with swollen lips, his eyes fixed on the little boy. He would –not- scare that child any more than was necessary. No. He forced a smile, holding it with his teeth until Gwen had carried her son out of the room. His fingers grabbed and reached wildly, clutching Jack's blue shirt as he hauled himself up to meet the man's white face.

 

"Something's coming, Jack, something from Before…" he seized briefly, his innards churning with sudden cold like burning holes in his time sense. His teeth felt like powder in his mouth, the way they kept banging down and up, down and up. Up and down. "Jack! It's burning me! It's going to… it's trying to take our… JACK! JACK! JACK! JACK! JAAAAA-" he sobbed again, over and over. It was hard to keep his head up, anymore. He felt hot. Fire was leaping in his veins, leaping, leaping, pealing like bells over his crisping nerves, frolicking through his synapses. He groaned with the weight of it, of holding back the sheer cliffs of flame that moved ever forward, forever trying to reach down into the depths of him and steal something precious. Dimly, he could see his fingers slip from their desperate grasp through the red steam of his own blood; Jack's shirt had five burn marks near the buttoned hem. His blood had already soaked the couch, long before Jack had pulled his jeans off for the baby, thinking it the reason. But birth was not turning his blood to steam in his veins. To steam! He would not last long enough to regenerate. As Death came closer, honest now, its stale breath brushing his lips, he wrapped his sense of self around his unborn child and held her close. But then a difference settled over him, and a frozen kiss claimed his forehead.

 

A light shone at the Doctor's temples, crawling backward, forming a finger, a hand. An arm appeared, layered in the black of a nice suit. The suit covered a sleek body, agile, easy, aloof. It in turn was wrapped in a trench coat. Fresh dirt grew beneath feet rooted in shiny black loafers, pouring from every movement , every tiny motion, and Jack felt the breath flow from his lungs as oak saplings grew in the loam where it settled on Gwen's white carpet.

 

Everything slowed; the blessed ice of that touch flowed into the Time Lord, soothing the flames, beating back the silent dread. Heaving a mother's dry tears, those grateful tears of faith and recognition, the Doctor looked up into the deep blue eyes of the creature who had cooled those fires, thanking it silently, bathing his charred soul in that boundless kyanite gaze.

 

The lips parted, the muscles of the face unmoving as they uttered their simple command.

 

"Push."

 

At once the Doctor understood. Today was Thursday, the day his child would be born. With expert senses he reached inside his flesh, felt his womb curling around its occupant, tightening, straining at his order. He was a Time Lord, after all. He pushed. He felt something leave him, then something smaller.

 

He fainted. A cry woke him, it must have been only a few seconds.

 

There was only time enough for Jack to hold their baby up for him to see, then the angel touched him, and he wasn't in Kansas anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack screamed.

 

Well, no he didn’t, but he wanted to.

 

As he opened his eyes to an empty room, he could smell the smoke rising in streamers of lung-clenching heat from the remains of Gwen’s couch. The front room was a blackened mess; there was now a gaping hole in the exterior of the apartment, its edges charred and dangling cotton candy insulation with bits of wire thrown in.

 

“Looks like vegetable rotini,” Rhys rasped as he stepped over a white vase grayed with ash that had melted into the carpet, his features fixing on his wife’s position. “Good thing I was in the loo. What the hell happened? Did a hostile find us? Where’s the Doctor? And his babies? Oh good god.”

 

Gwen’s eyes went wide, her face losing all blood supply as she turned to her husband with their wriggling son in her arms.  “A bloody angel, Rhys,” she said, balling her free hand into a fist and shoving it into her stomach, so hard Jack thought she would break a rib, “…an angel came. The Doctor said something was coming, and he started burnin, like a fire had started inside and it was eating him up. Not regenerative, though… something else. His baby wouldn’t come. Then, an angel came and touched him, gave him some strength back, and he gave birth. They ‘ve vanished, Rhys. They’re both gone. And look at my floor.”

 

Her face settled like the stuffing in a cheap carnival prize as she stared at the saplings that had sprung up in the dirt on her carpet.

 

“The angel did that. God, Rhys, I hope they’re both all right, wherever they are.”

 

Jack just shook himself, and held his newborn daughter to his chest with every bit of strength he could find, blinking at the scene before him. Then, as he looked at Gwen and Rhys, they looked at him. And he smiled.

 

“Course they are,” he said, as he took his first swim in his little girl’s deep ocean eyes, “…it’s Thursday.”


	5. Chapter 5

Tony Tyler looked at his hand. His hand was a sticky hand, sticky and dirty and covered in corn flakes. He stuck the hand on the man's floppy hair, watching as cornflake bits rubbed off and stuck. The man in the white shirt had been there since last night.

Uncle John and Rose had gone out. They'd gone out alone, and come back with him. Uncle John had been angry, Rose hadn't though. She'd almost gotten angry at Uncle John, instead. Growed-ups were bonkers. But, the man looked too young to be too growed up, so Tony thought it was safe to play with his funny hair. It was dark brown, like Tony's. And Uncle John's. He also thought maybe if he waked the man up the man wouldn't get in trouble for sleeping on Mum's kitchen table. Sometimes Uncle John got in trouble for that. Rose said Mister Floppy Hair had a fever, but Uncle John wouldn't let her put him in bed. She yelled at him, too. Not Floppy Hair, Uncle John. She said he was bein' a jammy git. Tony wondered at that. What was a git? When Mum said it, she was talkin bout people in the street who stole stuff, or people who didn't pay their utilities. Or people who were married who slept with other people they weren't married to. Or people who slept around. Tony felt his lips twitch. He grinned. Mum didn't know he knew that last bit. But he did. He'd overheard her talking to Uncle John about his friend Jack, said he was one sheet short of bein’ one. Whatever that meant. Mum was funny. So was Uncle John. So was big sister Rose. Well, everyone in the family was, really.

Tired of thinking so hard, Tony poked Floppy Hair again, hoping for a groan or a snore or something. But the man just slept and slept. Sometimes he drooled. Other times he'd moan something about rivers and black holes and sparkly vampires. Sometimes Rose would come in and wipe his mouth off, with this funny look on her face.

It wasn't so funny when Tony looked down again from staring at the ceiling, right at the spot where he'd thrown that pencil. The man's nose was bleeding on Mum's fancy lace tablecloth, the one with the little flowers.

"Mister Fwoppy Hair?" he poked at the man's head like it was a soft little bug. He didn't want to make it worse, "...yuw nose is bweeding. It'll make Mum cwoss."

Nothing.

Tony tried again, this time poking the man's cheek and talking louder in his ear.

"Pweeze wake up! If Mum sees you she be cwoss! And then she be cwoss at me coz I didn' wake you up."

This time, a sniff. The lips moved. Good, thought Tony as he crumpled a napkin and dabbed at the drops of blood.

"Do you think you could move your hand a bit, Tony Tyler?" the man said suddenly, opening one green eye to stare at Tony.

The little boy blinked, then scooted to the side away from the Doctor, revealing the cold glare of the Metacrisis who was sitting in the other room, staring into him, dark brown eyes boring like drill bits.

"Your Uncle doesn't like me much, Tony. Can't say I blame him. Anyway, may I call you Tony? Well I just did, didn't I?" said the Doctor, raising up from where his face had been smushed against the table for 14 hours straight, "Oh would you look at that? You were right. My nose did bleed all over the table linen. Well, let me just get that. We don't want you getting into any trouble over silly old me."

At the little boy's nod, he stuck a hand in the pocket of his shirt, then remembered.

"I ah, hrm. Looks like we'll have to do this the old fashioned way! Got any lemons, Tony Tyler?"

Suddenly the Metacrisis is in the room with them, ruffling the child's hair, but scowling at –him- with all the grace of a rabid mongoose.

"Nice of you to pop by…" quipped the Metacrisis, his somewhat nasal voice drunk with sarcasm as he reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a few of the sour yellow fruit, then rolled them smoothly across the round table, smacking them into the full Time Lord's bruised arm, each one a fresh blow.

The Doctor merely stared back, glanced over to smile warmly at Tony.

"Tony! I bet there's something good on telly just now. Why don't you go see what? Your Uncle John and I need to sort some things."

Both men froze, transfixed as the child squealed his delight.

"That's right… that science fiction children's show, 'Mister What'. He always has to have his 'Mister What' on Saturdays..." murmured the Metacrisis, idly scrubbing a hand through his mussy hair.

"Sorry Mister Floppy Hair, but I has to go watch telly!"

Tony Tyler turned from them, his little body on point toward the den, but then he stopped and turned round, staring at the man sitting at his mother's table.

"How'd you knowed bout 'Mister What', Mister Floppy Hair?"

The Doctor grinned at the Metacrisis, whose eyes burned hot coals in the full Time Lord's direction. Then he turned again to Tony and leaned one elbow on the table for balance while he spoke.

"Well, I knew that because I'm magick. Sort of. And your Uncle John knows all the same tricks I do, so you can ask him any time you want. But, I don't think you want to miss your show… so that can wait till later? Okay?"

He reached over and ruffled the kid's hair, whereupon Tony swung his head from side to side like a monkey, then glanced over at the Metacrisis before skipping off toward the telly.

"Happy now, Doctor?" the Metacrisis quipped flatly, slashing the air with a sideways slice of his open palm, "…you always were a manipulative prude."

The full Time Lord mock yawned, sticking his arms out and stretching melodramatically.

"…quite. I think I can't do anything for a bit anyway, not until I've healed completely from the birth of my daughter, Hosannah. There was some…outside interference by a Great Old One, and in order to preserve her and everyone near, I was forced to expedite things. By an angel no less."

He turned to the Metacrisis –who was staring and blinking like a shell-shocked, starved kinkajou- and sighed, the effort heavy on his lungs. His body… his flesh still remembered the touch of that terrible fire… the fury of Shub Niggurath. He'd never even had time to tell them what was happening before it tried to roast him alive in its attempt to return to the flesh. He stole another breath and waded back into the muck that was his current predicament.

The Metacrisis shot a token sour glare in his direction before pouring him a glass of orange juice.

It rather reminded the Doctor of a child who'd eaten something foul. Specifically, pear tart. Though for all he knew, he could –like- pears in this body. What was Creation coming to?


	6. Chapter 6

As always, Castiel rematerialized suddenly, his borrowed body weaving in time with its breaths though he leaned against the brick façade of a coffee shop; it had taken too much of his strength to zap the Doctor to safety and then do this. His flesh was turning clammy. He would pass out soon. The humans were looking at him, just like Dean and Sam had done so many times. He really should speak to them, comfort them. But his… Jimmy’s head was so heavy. A few years ago, he would simply have returned himself to Heaven to recuperate, leaving his Vessel to his or her own devices. But he was not that angel anymore. And besides, Heaven was the first place the Great Old One would look. He pushed himself away from the wall and sighed, blinking once or twice to distract Jimmy’s brain from the desire for sleep, then he took his full height and met their furrowed gazes.

 

They had not expected to be teleported. They had not expected a being from beyond the boundaries of normal reality to wake up and immediately seek out and try to kill the one person in all the universe who was a distant relation.

 

A deep, soft laugh escaped his lips; he let it bubble, knowing he would cough up blood and scare the humans. Strangely, this little group didn’t seem so frightened, so upended by the sight of his body’s undermined state. So he decided to try speaking, letting go a little, just enough to let them know he was.. how had Dean put it? Out of commission, for the moment.

 

“The Doctor is…” he rasped, hoping one of his charges could hear him, “I tried to hold the Great Old One off for longer, but without an archangel’s power…  In the end, I could only send him to Her. It will buy us some time.”

 

He stared for a long time at the infant boy Anwen and the newborn girl child Hosannah, both safe in Gwen and Rhys’s  embrace. His lips tried for a smile, but even that was too great an effort, so he simply swayed and fell against the bricks again. Then his knees buckled, pulling him down into a puddle of dark water baptised by the coffee shop gutters, the skin around his eyes stretching taut as an alarming amount of blood spurted from his mouth at the impact. Soon everyone and everything was swirling in place, just like that time in the hotel with Dean and Sam, before Armageddon.

 

~~~

 

Castiel knew nothing for a while; he knew nothing as Gwen and Rhys hauled him up out of that pool of fetid water by the scruff of Jimmy’s trenchcoat and into a  nearby hotel room; he knew nothing as Jack held ice chips to Jimmy’s lips and settled them there, catching the stray drops of cold water with his fingers and returning them to Jimmy’s parched mouth. He knew nothing as Gwen dabbed a wet cloth at Jimmy’s temples. He knew nothing as Rhys played with their little boy on the floor beside the bed, dangling napkins tied in shapes above their play-reddened ears while Jack Harkness caught a soldier’s catnap curled around his daughter in the other bed.

 

When he finally did wake, Cas found himself covered with a thin blanket and lying on the same bed they had laid him on when they’d first arrived. Jack was there in the room, along with his daughter. Gwen Cooper nee Williams, her husband Rhys and their son, however…

 

“Jack,” he said flatly, and -like a sprung catapult- the Time Agent bolted upright from the chair he’d been dozing in.

 

Jack Harkness looked stricken, his blue eyes fluttering in half sleep like a scream stuck in the throat.

 

Castiel frowned. It seemed there was something keeping the Time Agent from full wakefulness… Enlivened by the thought of intrigue, he pushed up from the bed, shedding the blanket… and was relieved when his legs held him up during the short five steps to the chair Jack had been sleeping in.

 

“Jack,” he said again, his voice not so hoarse this time, not so tired. He smiled a small smile as he reached out to cup Jack’s face with his hand, to dispel the man’s nightmare. His strength was returning quickly. Soon he’d be able to-

 

Still half- asleep, the Time Agent leaped on him, waving a four inch notched blade he’d hidden somewhere… unconventional… at best.

 

With a sigh, Cas slapped his right hand across the edge of the knife, holding it fast despite the extraordinary human’s struggles. Heaving another unnecessary breath, he noted with disinterest the amount of blood pouring over the metal grip from the fresh wound. Suddenly he heard a knock at the door, two knocks.  A third. Then the sound of a newborn’s mewling. The click and swipe of a keycard. Fumbling in pockets, purses perhaps as the door slipped open. Then two familiar shadows crossed the threshold.

 

He turned to the first human to enter the room, Rhys, who quickly snatched Hosannah from the bed nearest Jack. Then he said,

 

“He is experiencing some kind of nightmare, a flashback probably. I attempted to dispel it, but he will not let me near… I need some kind of distraction. Does Gwen know of any?”

 

Cas paused, looking at the wide gash in his left hand, which was full of Jack’s knife. It was already scratching bone. That would stop the blade’s forward motion through his hand for a while, until his arm exsanguinated. Then he saw Anwen’s little eyes widen at the sight of his bloody fingers, and so without hesitation he thrust out his free hand, putting both children to sleep from across the hotel room.

 

Gwen met his gaze, her nod quick and understanding as she instantly called out Jack’s name, her spirit more animated than the angel had ever seen. It was heartening, but he had no time to enjoy it; instead, he closed the distance between himself and Jack when the man half-turned at the sound of Gwen's voice, relieving the Time Agent of his knife with a swift crush of fragile wrist bones.

 

“It’s trying to manifest again,” he cried to the humans as a black Charybdis formed behind Jack’s empty chair, spewing gallful tentacles of spittle whose suckered tips bore each a billion gnashing teeth. Then he slashed, dove, slashed again.

 

Pain woke Jack up, at last. That was good; he’d been asleep too long. The Old One had found them because of it,  because of his uniqueness. The man would doubtless blame himself, but the angel knew his mission; he could spare no strength on words of calm until the threat was again in recoil.

 

Snarling in Old Enochian, Cas flung the chair away with a finger, stopping its motion and time-locking its inherent matter in mid-air as he whirled, blade in hand, to dance with the Ancient Enemy. With his freely flowing blood he carved symbol after symbol after symbol into the fleshy whips of meat that struck after him now, burning away tentacle after tentacle with Holy Fire while avoiding the hand-long barbs and the slimy puckers with their sharkish, sucking teeth. Then, wearied, bloodied and bruised, Cas stood back and brought ice to his fingertips, smiling as Time froze for him. He dipped his palm in still more of his newly pooled let, set his hand to the thick hart within those icy bits of wormy sinew, spread the digits wide, and…


	7. Chapter 7

Krrik. Krrak-krrik.

 

The sound brought Gabriel’s head roaring up from his favorite centerfold. He turned in his blue, white and yellow striped lawn chair -strategically placed in the boot of the alley behind the Sea Blossom Chinese restaurant- and smiled as he saw what was coming up the street. His brother Lucifer was standing there, cracking his ample bosomed Asian meat suit’s neck from side to side and regarding everything as though he’d already decided to paint the town red. Par for the course. So dutifully, he rose from his lawn chair, backed away from the little white table set with lemonade, vodka, and those little sausages on toothpicks, and turned to face the first of his brothers to arrive. He was going to need more chairs.

 

“Lucy!” he called, tossing his shoulder-length dirty blonde hair back away from his Irish chin like a careless girl of sixteen, “So nice of you to join us. Try the swai.”

 

On cue the restaurant’s grey back door opened, allowing a small scruffy porter with a box who jumped when he saw the Morningstar and promptly dropped the crate stamped ‘Ocean Caught Whitefish’ on his foot.

 

Lucifer grinned slightly, then parted his rouged lips, plumping the flesh of the lower one just enough to give the impression of a pout. The porter scrabbled away in terror, the box forgotten.

 

“My Vessel owns the restaurant, Gabby. Nice of you to do your homework. Where are Michael and Raphael?”

 

Gabriel laughed.

 

“Very Lucy Liu, by the way. I noticed you’re using a new moisturizer...”

 

The Morningstar blinked out of boredom. His grace, if one could still call it that, tweaked to the presence of another Archangel. It was like someone sticking their hand in front of a candle and watching it flicker, feeling the flame lick around the obstructing hand, eager to flick out and burn as it waits for an opening, then dousing the hand in kerosene.

 

Michael was here.

 

His elder brother’s boyish face, the face of Adam Winchester, turned as he turned to look. It was a cheesy sort of creepy. Creepy had its merits.

 

“Mikey. You said you’d found the Doctor, found his Ship even. Then why are we here at my little shop playing hooky? Where’s Fearless Leader and his pet Time Lord?”

 

Michael sighed, his lips quirking in that way he had with nasty smiles.

 

“We each had to come alone, from different locations. The Old One has been tracking us as well as the Doctor’s Ship. And, there was a complication with the Doctor’s arrangement.”

 

“Yes…” Raphael murmured softly, his beautiful deep coffee bean skin gleaming in the neon reflected from Chinatown’s collection of dragon sculptures and backstreet gambling dive signs.

 

“Castiel made good time. Another few minutes and Shub Niggurath would have burned the Doctor’s body to a crisp and taken his unborn child as a Vessel. As it is,” he paused, glaring at the faces of his brothers before he took an unnecessary breath, “I know they were there, at Rhys Williams’ apartment. Jack Harkness, as well. Little Brother keeps moving the humans and the two children every few days, stopping only long enough to rest. Perhaps one of us should…”

 

Michael’s calm flew away, replaced by something strange and terrible. But none of them could see it, not really. Lucifer had always been best at reading his brother’s moods.

 

The blonde hair bled white light; the pale rings of his bluish irises lit up like Chinese firecrackers. Even his face took on that special holy glow.

 

Then the crate of whitefish behind the dumpster began to sizzle.

 

“Michael! Michael, don’t!”

 

Raphael backed away; the street… hell, probably the whole district was clear of mortals now; only a few lesser gods, demons and low-level angels were fool enough to be running around when Michael had one of his fits.

 

Skirrrrrr.

 

Skeeeerunch!

 

Gabriel looked at Lucifer. They both looked at Raphael.

 

“You know, little brother,” Lucifer smirked, cocking his head as he filled his Vessel’s lungs with a good deal of useless air, making his plump breasts rise like heaving burial mounds below his breastbone, “I could say it, but… I think it’s pretty much obvious.”

 

“Say what?” said Gabriel, wincing as Raphael’s smooth, suited figure was scattered across five Chinese greengrocers, three closed laundries, a gambling joint and the bright red entrance Paifang.

 

“Oh. Don’t kill the messenger. Oops, too late! Ha ha. That was a good one, Luce. It’ll take Raph five minutes to reconstitute, at least.”

 

Then the lid on the crate exploded, spraying bits of slimy, breaded whitefish, probably cod, over everyone –except- Lucifer and Michael.

 

“Well geez. I was going to eat that, possibly baked with some caviar in a white wine sauce, possibly sautéed in an exquisite lemon and herb reduction,” said Gabriel, tipping his drink to Michael as he plucked a piece of half-frozen fish off the shoulder of his jacket, “So anyway, you said you found the TARDIS, Mikey…”

 

Michael smiled, then swept his arm toward the dumpster.

 

Gabriel choked; Lucifer merely blinked unnecessarily and looked at his brother with mild surprise as half of Raphael’s jaw -dragging a pristine white tooth or two- suddenly crawled over his foot toward the place the angel had been standing. Raphael was always so funny when Michael smote him.

 

“Oh come on, Mikey, tell me you didn’t make the Ship transform into a giant trash can?”

 

The archangel Michael rose, folded a napkin he’d swiped from Gabriel’s little table, then walked to the brick of the Ocean Blossom’s back wall, patting it softly.

 

This time, Lucifer did stare.

 

They were inside Her the whole time?

 

Michael sighed and patted the wall again, then waved them away as the whole of Chinatown shimmered, melting away in strange chocolate and red patterns to reveal the inside of the Doctor’s beloved TARDIS, all roundels  and broom handles and blue paint.

 

“She wants her Doctor back, my brothers,” he murmured, tracing the lines of a roundel as the final vestiges of Chinatown disappeared around them,“ … but I suggest we take her to him. It will save us the trouble. Use them both as bait for the Great Old One.  The Ancient Enemy cannot hear us inside her walls. Once we have finished discussing the matter, each one of us must leave the TARDIS and take a position at a corner of her façade.

 

“Oh, this is hilarious. But Raph’s not back yet, Mikey. We kind of need another Archangel to pull this job…”

 

“Oh, we have something better.” Michael said, waving a hand down one of the Ship’s great corridors at an approaching shadow.

 

A woman came into view. She had an oval face, a thick wash of deep gold ringlets, lips like red plums and a shiny-new disruptor. And what was she was wearing? Only a white silk cami over a pair of fatigues and combat boots…

 

“Aunty?” said Gabriel, slapping his thigh as Lucifer produced a lop-sided smirk from around one end of a long cigarette.

 

“You found The Magdalene. Well, hot diddly damn.” Lucifer snorted, sniffing his delicate Asian nose as his whole essence reveled in the scent of Father’s beloved step-daughter.

 

River Song grinned as she tapped a loving pat to her pistol, then met all the faces in the room.

 

“Hello, boys,” she mused, taking in the three of them as though they were pool boys shivering after a bathing beauty, “… so where’s the Doctor?”


	8. Chapter 8

“… I refuse to throw myself in with you as some kind of penance, Half-Ten,” said Eleven warily, looking down his vaguely disapproving nose at his Metacrisis as the man busied himself in the Tyler kitchen. “You’ll just have to accept the fact that I pity you. It’s natural to pity something that has been cut off from the thing that created it, whatever the reason. And I, at least, know better than to instigate something in my mother-in-law’s favorite room.”

 

There were pears there, on the table, he knew… all cut up in slices as though they expected to be eaten. Well he wasn’t going to eat them in front of Half-Ten, no sir.

 

“…You’re staring at them, idiot,” muttered the Metacrisis, not bothering to turn from the stove where he mellowed as he stirred a small pot full of cream-butter sauce for the top of the tart. “Regenerated or not, you’re still a fool for leaving her. And I’m a stewed frog over it.”

 

The Doctor didn’t smile. He didn’t look up from the table, nor from the bowl of sliced pears spritzed with lemon to keep them from spoiling.  

 

“I have moved on, you know. I have Jack, and Hosannah. Soon, I’ll have River, if this thing boils over. And speaking of boiling over… still  hopping mad, are we? Be careful with that,” he stated, tapping the tabletop with a big wooden salad fork, “…that kind of attitude is what created the Valeyard.” He paused, gazing with a great, unspeakable fondness at the man who’d learned to love pear tart despite himself.

 

“…and nearly cost me my soul on Mars…” he breathed almost to himself, staring into space just long enough to remember he didn’t want to do that anymore.

 

The man at the stove paused, silvery metal spatula in hand, and straightened his back. “What happened on Mars?”

 

“There was a water-based hive-mind species frozen by the Ice Warriors. It was found by the first human ship sent up to stay for a length of time. By the time I arrived, it had already infected a member of the crew. I was only able to save three people. I shouldn’t have saved anyone.  I altered history that day, because, in a moment of epiphany, I realized _I could break the laws of time_. Naturally, after that stunning realization, the dam broke, literally and figuratively. I knew I could break the last hold my people and my planet had on me, and I…”

 

“I did it.”

 

He froze for half an instant, as two fuzzy slippers and a pair of shiny black boring business-y shoes appeared as he was staring at the floor. Then he looked up to meet their faces, and added, “… and I went mad. For about five minutes, I was upset and angry and insane and more dangerous than any injustice-minded being I’d ever railed against. I took the three survivors home. I even proclaimed myself the _Time Lord Victorious_. Utter nonsense, I know, but still… I frightened the two young people I had saved, and they ran off screaming. But the captain, oh, that woman was a strong one. I had proved what I was to her, told her she was meant to die on Mars. So she judged what I had become and she went up the stairs into her house and shot herself. She committed suicide.”

 

“Oh, Doctor… don’t you have someone? Anyone?” This from Jackie, who was wringing her hands and going to threaten him, any minute he was sure, with enough food and hugs to give an army a fright.

 

“Oh yes, this all happened before a certain incident that ultimately caused my death. I’m travelling with a married couple now. It’s just like when I first started out. But, anyway… back to the point. That woman’s suicide… that’s what it took to snap me back to my senses. That and an apparition of Ood Sigma. He reappeared to me at the end, told me the Universe would sing me to my sleep. And they did, Lord have mercy. So as I regenerated, I forced myself to admit things, and let all of it flow out of me, as I should have done years ago. So here I am, and I feel a bit better, because of all that. And you lot. I won’t do that again. The thought of myself as a thing that frightens children scares me more than anything. It’s why I’m not going to run anymore. I’m going to face what I have to face. And that’s enough of that; no more depressed Time Lord, no more unhappy faces! Where’s that tart? Isn’t it ready yet?”

 

“Well, bollocks. How can I be angry at you after that load of rubbish, you say? Easy peasy. Just look at how long Rose had to spend without you. That’s reason enou- OW!”

 

The Metacrisis had been in the middle of waving his metal spatula about just as Jackie Tyler’s open palm connected with his cheek. And then Rose’s came to join him.

 

“…gh to be properly chastised by my two favorite female humans. Righty-o, then, back to the tart. D’you wanna help, Doctor?” 

 

“Naah,” he said, grinning like a boy and admiring it in the gleam of Half-Ten’s spatula, “I hate pears.”

 

His slap came next. Definitely mandatory, especially the double sting and the redness. He savored the touch of Rose’s hand on his cheek for a moment, wondering at what he’d felt for her, once. Then he noticed Pete staring at him, and he began to laugh, so hard and for so long that he knew a human would have run out of breath long before he finally clamped his lips together. Of course it didn’t last.

 

“Can’t very well go to what is probably my final death without a double slap from my ex-girlfriend and her mother, now can I? Could you maybe, ah, do it again, for good luck?”

 

“Don’t forget me…” said the Metacrisis, grinning and holding up a ready fist in which the spatula shook threateningly.

 

“Ah, I’ll just… um… Jackie, could you move?” Pete ventured, touching his wife’s shoulder with a shaking hand.  “I can’t reach the tart crust. You said I needed to pour the filling in.”

 

Jackie Tyler whirled on the poor man, having grabbed up a bag of flour from somewhere, and bit her lip. Then she opened the baggie and upturned the paper sack over her husband’s balding, convenient pate.

 

“Sorry love, heat of the moment,” she said, dusting off Pete Tyler’s formal red smoking-style jacket.

 

Pete Tyler was used to this, the Doctor thought, because the man merely smiled weakly, blew out his cheeks, picked up the bag and dutifully shook it all around the room.

 

The Metacrisis was not pleased.

 

“So much for the tart…” he said with a tear in his eye as he turned to the stove and clicked it off, then moved the hot pot into the oven, to cool safe away from hands and heads and hair, “I’ll just have to improvise!”

 

 His hands reached over someone, he thought it was Rose, and grabbed up the spray nozzle connected to the faucet. Everyone stopped, looked at him, and ducked as he shoved the cold on and began spraying victims at random. Pete kept a tight hold on the flour bag, saving up for a final burst as he swayed and bowed and slid away from the offending water-sprayer; Jackie gawped like a blowfish as Rose lost her balance trying to escape and they both tripped, flying into the wall and laughing as they slid down.

 

The Doctor cocked his head as a batch of dough went sailing past, wielding Jackie’s frying pan as though it were a shield with a sword handle.

 

“Missed me!” he cried out, scrubbing a hand through his hair in relief as a kitchen drawer fell out and tumbled, spilling cutlery into the air. A short bit of telekinesis made certain that no one would have to go to hospital… but then Pete’s flour bag found his face, and the day was lost to a flurry of flour and water and limbs.

 

Thirty minutes later they were tangled in a heap on the floor, exhausted, Pete’s head in Jackie’s lap, Rose lounging against the Metacrisis, one leg perched across her father’s knees. One of Pete’s shoes was hanging from Half-Ten’s head…

 

“What should I call you again? Is it John, or Handy, or what? I can never remember…” the full Time Lord mused when he had fully awoken, picking up a water and flour-sodden socked foot which seemed to belong to the Metacrisis.

 

But the Metacrisis wasn’t looking at his foot.

 

He wasn’t looking at anything.

 

Because Tony Tyler’s little hands were choking him.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Cas!”

 

“What is it, Jack?” said Castiel flatly, not bothering to cock his head to one side as he usually did. “I am busy unzipping my zipper. I cannot seem to manage it… And you should perhaps consider not calling me that. Only Dean Winchester can…nickname me.”

 

“…okay. Fair enough. Do you want help with your zipper?”

 

“That would depend on uncle’s… I mean the Doctor’s feelings concerning extramarital coitus, Jack. I –am- an angel of the Lord, as you recall, and would not take kindly to being coerced into an unholy act.”

 

“…a gentleman, I see. The offer still stands. Do you want help with them?” Jack said, smiling as  he imagined what the angel looked like behind the door. It was still surprising that he’d managed to convince the holy being to change clothes at all… not that Castiel ever seemed to smell of anything but camphor and roses, all sorts of scents that one would find attractive. Angels couldn’t help it, he’d said. Well not in so many words, but… heh.

 

“..them? I am only wearing one pair of… oh. Yes, yes I believe I have negotiated the zipper.”

 

 

“How long do you think Gwen and Rhys and the children have to stay where they’re at?”

 

Finally, the angel slipped into the room wearing a dark grey, half-zipped hoodie and dark jeans.

 

“I am unsure. But the Old One cannot find them, for the moment.”

 

“Thank god. But, why didn’t we just take them there to begin with? And, Castiel…” Jack drew in a hard, cold breath from the open window, then let it out painfully. “How is the Doctor? Is he still safe? Do you know anything? You were in pretty bad shape when you came back.”

 

Castiel reached out, placing a hand on Jack’s blue-shirted shoulder. “Jack… he is still with Rose and Half-Ten. And he is still pregnant with twins, minus the third child, Hosannah, whose birth I aided. She was the most mature of the three, the most viable, and the most likely target for possession. As it is, I believe the Doctor is abreast of the situation.”

 

Jack paled, looking from Castiel to the small blanket of Hosannah’s held in those long elegant hands. Then Castiel handed the blanket to him, and he clung to it for a moment before rising from where he had perched himself on the edge of the hotel bed.

 

“This blanket is to lure it away from them, yeah? Please tell me the other two fetuses aren’t…”

 

The angel nodded grimly, eyes glimmering like Chinese paper lanterns in the dark of the morning. “He is still pregnant. Perhaps you should get dressed, Jack Harkness…” he said, gesturing to the fact that Jack’s shirt hung unbuttoned over red heart boxers. Then his cheeks took on a certain redness, and he averted his eyes.

 

“You’re blushing, Castiel. That’s kinda cute, on you. But yeah, about that- can you toss me my pants… I’m thinking about that dream I had, the one you had to wake me up from.”

The angel rubs his chin, nudging the tip of his thumb and the line of his forefinger into place along his sensuous lips. “And what did you conclude, Jack?”

 

“I don’t think I should go with you.”

 

Castiel started, despite himself. The man must have been remembering how he had tried to kill the angel, and applied that possibility to the child, or, perhaps the Doctor. Or Gwen and Rhys, and their own small boy, Anwen. Humans were… confusing to him, no matter Dean’s _unique_ explanations. And for that matter, he rather suspected that Dean and Sam’s life had not been... what was the term? The norm.

 

“Do you want to stop me leaving?”

 

“Is there a reason for me to, you mean? Yes, Jack- there is. You are unique among the beings which inhabit Creation. Shub Niggurath will be drawn to you. Moths and flames.”

 

Jack pretended to think about this, before he spoke. “So it’s really not safe anywhere for them, is it? Why did you separate us then?”

 

 “I zapped Gwen, Rhys and Anwen to a friend of mine’s… place. Being with so many humans who have been around me will mask Hosannah’s scent with mine. But you, now… you and I will have to… stick together. I will bring them, you and the Doctor back together again when his condition has progressed sufficiently enough to draw the Old One out from his hiding place. My brothers the Archangels are also preparing… a little something. But that plan involves the TARDIS, and is not at present our concern. At best, Shub Niggurath will go after the tastiest targets, namely, the Doctor or you. But Jack… if all else fails, we will have to use the Doctor as bait anyway. Which is another reason you aren’t with him right now.”

 

“He wouldn’t be able to say no, if it meant saving lives.” Jack reasoned as he regarded the permanently pained look the angel always seemed to wear, “I get it. Heaven is giving the Doctor a chance to come up with a plan. Yeah, I get it. I just don’t like it.”

 

The angel’s sad sack expression screamed honesty so badly, it almost seemed laughable that any plan he was involved in would actually work. He seemed oblivious. “And that is why you must remain with me, Jack Harkness. I am to be your… what is the word? Babysitter.”

 

But Jack just shook his head, heaved another sigh, and glanced toward the hotel room window again. He had never been good at helplessness. Or being babysat.

 

Then something moved in the closet, and a single box slid off the top shelf, crashing to the floor at Jack’s feet.

 

They both started for a weapon, the Time Agent grabbing for his Webley, the angel suddenly holding a decrepit looking Colt marked with Enochian sigils…

 

Slowly, so achingly slowly as though ending a scene at a burlesque show, a tan-skinned woman with long, thick golden curls to her shoulders stepped like a queen from the familiar recession of two lovely blue doors, spilling light everywhere into the cool cream hotel room.

 

“River Song! Sweetheart, it’s great to see you, but how long has the TARDIS been in our courtesy closet?”


	10. Chapter 10

“…you know The Magdalene?” Castiel murmured, suddenly intrigued.

 

“The what?”

 

For the first time in history, Jack Harkness’ Webley slid from his hand and clomped to the neutral beige rug.

 

Castiel failed to notice the pallor on Jack’s face as he launched into his obligatory history lesson… “River Song is only a favorite alias of the Time Lord known as The Magdalene. And she is the wife of Our Father’s Son, Mithos… otherwise known as the Doctor.”

 

River Song stepped from the halo provided by the Timeship and walked over to where Jack was clutching the edge of the bed. “Do remember to breathe, Jack. Do you like this cami? I got it at Neiman’s, _back in the fifties_. Rather a spot on that old thing I was wearing before! You remember the slinky red dress? Slightly above the knee, fine silk? With combat boots?”

 

Jack sneezed. “Boy do I! Has the Doctor seen you in it?”

 

River ran a hand along his tight shoulders, making him gasp. “No; where is he? The fab four have yet to tell me what they need from me. I’m getting suspicious.” Four shadows of light stood in the TARDIS double doorway, flickering slightly as though made of candle flames.

 

“Are those Castiel’s brothers, the Archangels?” Jack asked, sideswiping her question until he could come up with an answer.

 

 Then she saw the look on Jack’s face, and she stopped stroking him instantly. “What’s happened? Is he all right? I’ve only gotten a vague idea from these naughty little boys.”

 

So Jack recounted what he knew…

 

By the time he was done, River was sitting on the bed beside him, idly toying with her disruptor. “How much of the plan does the Doctor know? Michael?” She curved ruby lips at the tall blonde with an icy baby face and the young Asian woman with a 20’s cigarette holder. “Lucifer? Spill it. He is not going to be happy if he doesn’t know everything he thinks he needs to. Remember last time with the pigs.” She looked at Jack. Jack looked at her.

 

The angels still weren’t talking. But Castiel could tell; nothing quite unnerved his brothers like a session with Aunty… he was secretly pleased.

 

Dirty blonde, lecherous Gabriel’s Irish-American chin was snickering in the corner as Raphael, who wore as his meat suit a beautiful, tall, midnight-skinned man, stepped up to the proverbial plate, looking every bit the eager puppy.

 

“Aunty River...” he started off, like a disreputable pawn broker with his mark, “I do not think it is wise for Uncle to know anything more than he knows, just yet. My brothers ridicule me; they deem me useless in this, but we have yet to see. I have discovered something they have not.”

 

This time Lucifer tossed his jet-black hair and turned to take in his taller, darker brother. “And what would that be, Raph? What is so important that you would keep something so supposedly integral to –the plan- away from us, your –beloved brothers?- Surely you didn’t hope to gain favour with Michael?” He/she tapped her cigarette holder on Raphael’s black suit jacket, knocking out a huge amount of ash onto the smooth fabric. Then he/she smiled, continuing on, “Remember yesterday? I think that ship has sailed…”

 

“And he’s still pregnant, you say?” said River suddenly, looking off somewheres. “I hope he’s adjusting well to Rose being with Half-Ten.” She raised a hand to Castiel’s face, caressing Jimmy’s low cheekbones. “I need to see him. Are you up to it?”

 

Jack watched as Castiel stood regally on his side of the room, puffing up before the fall, perhaps? The Time Agent stifled a snort, as it was warring with the deep growl of utter frustration he’d been forced to leave simmering in his gut.

 

“Yes, Aunty. When do you prefer?”

 

“Well it ought to be sooner rather than later, my love.” Then she turned to Gabriel. “Shall we go then?”

 

There was almost an audible thud as Castiel deflated just as Gabriel wiggled his arm under River’s and they zapped out, again with that signature angelic <bamf!>.

 

Two blue eyes blinked in confusion while Castiel’s mouth opened and shut, rinsing and repeating several times before he could stop himself.

 

Jack said nothing as boyish, icy Michael, fluid and avian, came to his little brother and strangely, put both arms around him. “Come, Castiel... “ said the Archangel, not without gentleness as he slipped his fingers around the legendary Colt and withdrew it from the younger angel’s fingers. “Archangels have no need of toys. We must take our places at the corners of the TARDIS.”

 

Castiel’s borrowed eyes widened; suddenly his thoughts flew like racing horses through Jimmy Novak’s synapses, turning the events of the past few days around and around like diamonds reborn from coal. What about Raphael’s… information?

 

Lucifer smirked, as though he too knew something and wasn’t telling. But then he was always like that… perhaps he had guessed Raphael’s play? “Really, Cas...” he murmured from those pretty rosebud lips painted now with blue and green gloss, “If you want to play sheriff for real, you should get your ass at the bottom right. Don’t make me call BINGO, now, although it really seems like _you_ should say it. Geek angel calls B24!”

 

That stiffened Cas up rightly enough. He gazed at his brothers in confusion for only a small lingering second, then went to the empty corner, taking his place amongst the others at the corners of the TARDIS.

 

Michael lifted his cool girlish head to the Time Agent, then said, “There are few beings the bullets from this Colt cannot kill- only four, to be exact. Myself, and the other three Archangels.” Then he tossed the weapon onto the striped bedcover, along with a couple of clips. “All these bullets are for the Colt. Use only these that I have given you. Any other rounds will not be useful. Of course, we have yet to see if they will have any effect at all on the Great Old One… and finally, we will be going now. The TARDIS must be utilized to make stable the doorway between Pete’s World and this one.”

 

That got Jack up from his seat again. He bolted upright, ignoring the gun.

 

“Son of a bitch. You just sent them off to their deaths, didn’t you? Gabriel knew, certainly… but did she? Did River?”

 

Jack looked from Michael’s smiling face to Raphael’s smirk, to Lucifer’s oddly somnolent gaze. He found nothing he could use, not even in Castiel’s simmering anger when the youngest Archangel offered him a sympathetic frown, saying without saying that he would -get to the bottom of it.-

 

Then  the TARDIS and her four bearers winked out, and Jack was alone again.


	11. Chapter 11

“I’m sorry, but I…still can’t help you move out of your flat,” the Doctor said softly, pulling the long pea-coat style jacket he’d borrowed from Pete around himself as he leaned against the corner of the big brick house. “I thought we went over this earlier…”

 

Half-Ten scowled over at the Doctor as he set the box labeled ‘porcelains! FRAGILE!’ down on the pavement. The man had been exhausted after that odd teleport in from the other universe, he’d given him that- he’d even gone so far as to let the Time Lord sleep on the kitchen table for a whole day, but now! Now he was just lounging about the place, hardly doing his share of the labor. If he was going to remain on this side for any length of time, he might as well put himself to use. Hell, this new body looked young enough for the both of them. Practically jailbait!

 

“I heard that, Half-Ten,” said the full Time Lord, subconsciously plucking at the coat again as he eased his body against the wall to lean. “Don’t make me take you over my knee.”

 

The Metacrisis felt his brains squirm despite himself, at this awkward notion; indeed, it seemed as though his mind was unsteady… Today, of all days! Rose needed him to be steady today. _He_ needed him to be steady to-day! They were officially moving in together, into their new home. It ought to have been a momentous occasion. Instead, that good-for-nothing Time Lord was beating about the place, getting in the way.

 

“You keep saying that as if you actually might make that mistake, Theta Sigma…” Half-Ten growled under his breath.

 

The Doctor brushed his hair back behind his ear and sighed tiredly, happy to avoid looking in the Metacrisis’ direction. “Are you trying to bait me? Really?”

 

“You…” Half-Ten’s eyes were bright now as he stared down at his box of dishes, “… are a disgrace to half a dozen systems. A fugitive from everything called justice… how pitiful. How… weak, how… small you are…” Why was he so edgy today? He didn’t understand it, he couldn’t underst- suddenly, he felt himself take a step toward the Doctor, and he was afraid. A deep shadow had fallen over him earlier, in broad daylight. He knew something was off, but was powerless to stop it.

 

A full Time Lord can feel the tenuous twist of gravity beneath their feet. The turn of gears and cogs that are the signposts of existence is the most obvious lie, the most blatant of self-deceptions, and if the Doctor had his way today, there would be people alive to consider that fact tomorrow.

 

As he leaned against the bricks, he felt something twisting inside his duplicate. What was worse, he felt it more strongly with every step the man took toward him. How many steps, he wondered drowsily, would he allow Half-Ten to take before he acted? He could not afford to give himself away, if it even mattered. Stupid of him, then, not to have considered the perfectly reasonable swing of a car door outward onto the drive. Foolish, too, not to have known that Tony had been sleeping in the back seat of Rose’s vehicle.

 

Eyes full of chocolate violence tracked the child at once. Was that a blue tinge running through Half-Ten’s irises? There seemed to be no way to tell which way Tony would run… would the boy go to his trusted uncle, or the shiny new favorite, Mister Floppy Hair? Tony took his time deciding, in any case- the child quivered as he looked first at Half-Ten his uncle, then at the Doctor, his squirrelly face scrunching with effort as he made his decision.

 

He, at least, knew what _his_ was going to be.

 

 _“Here comes Tony, busy little bee,”_ he began to sing-song in his head, beaming across the paved drive at the little boy, who was faltering in Half-Ten’s direction, _“... I bet Tony has a hug for me!”_ He waited, waited… finally their eyes met, his and Tony’s, and the hypnosis was complete. The child scrambled away from his uncle and bolted toward the Doctor, his feet carrying him away from the encroaching shadow crawling up the house walk.

 

When his hands at last found purchase in Tony Tyler’s entirely ruffle-able hair, the Time Lord sagged for just a little moment before he play-swatted the lad into the house and into Rose’s waiting arms. Unfortunately, being a Time Lord he didn’t have to look to know that Half-Ten was seething.

 

He turned just in time to see Tony climb over the threshold. Was that Rose, still hanging in the doorway? What was she staring at?

 

Oh god. If the subtle darkness in Half-Ten’s mind set its sights on her now… on anyone else… how was he going to protect everyone else on the street if the shadow erupted now? No, it was much simpler to just…

 

“Aren’t you boys done unpackin’ the car yet? We still got the divan to move!”

 

 _“No, Rose, no no no no no! It’s gotten into his mind! Don’t draw its attention.”_ The Doctor practically screamed it in her head, and she started, looking frantically between him and Half-Ten, who had been watching. Then she shut the door, catching some of her hair in the screen and handle as she backed away in sock feet.

 

Now Half-Ten was moving swiftly, the heavy box of stoneware in his hands.

 

The Doctor blinked, at the sudden height of the midday sun, then made a dash for the house, but the only route left meant cutting directly across Half-Ten’s path.

 

They both gazed on each other, running in the sunlight.

 

Half-Ten smirked as he caught the Time Lord in the stomach with a sharp corner of box, bruising the taut, tender abdominal wall and nearly drawing the alien’s blood. Shadows pooled in those chocolate browns only to slide out through his irises like thick grease. Almost gleefully, the little piece of tangible darkness began sloshing toward the puncture wound made in the Doctor’s side by the metal-reinforced cardboard. Twisting out of his duplicate’s grasp, the alien managed to avoid the leaping shade, but lost his balance when he tripped over Half-Ten’s foot and went down hard, landing on his lower back across a pile of rough, jagged bits of pavement stacked at the base of a gutter pipe.

 

Stunned into a moment of senselessness, the Time Lord recalled his little tumble, realizing belatedly that he had landed on his kidney atop a small piece of rebar, of all things. Had it gotten him? Hard to call it; he was near drunk on adrenaline, but that wouldn’t last forever. The situation needed diffusing, and quickly. Had he not been pregnant and sore, he might have laughed, as he expected Half-Ten to round on him at any moment, perhaps wielding a much more sizeable piece of reinforced bar in scratched and bleeding hands... But blessedly, when he opened his eyes, his shadow-possessed duplicate was _not_ standing over him with a blunt instrument.  Or a box of broken Prince Albert Rose plates, for that matter.

 

Rose Tyler was.

 

“Do you thin’ he’ll be all right?” she said hoarsely, as she knelt and reached to dab at a scratch on the Doctor’s forehead with a thumb she’d licked. “How much did he.. it… hurt you? Do you need to do that… coma thing again? Tony’s asleep in front of telly, by the way.”

 

The Doctor  just shrugged where he lay, then snaked a hand  beneath his pants to feel for any hidden deep tissue bruising along his belly. “Don’t know yet. And that’s my answer to any of it, at this point. The Old One’s a big problem though, even for the angels. Did I tell you I’m still pregnant?”

 

“What?”

 

“Didn’t you hear me? Oh. Well, ah, perhaps it’s for the best then. Anyway, my right kidney is bruised, plus I’ve got a fractured rib from that blasted pile of rocks. Um, don’t touch him yet, Rose,” he managed, gritting his teeth as he slid himself against the wall to rest. “He could be faking, being possessed like that. The Old Ones like to have insurance- hence the chaos infection of lumpy over there.”

 

“Oh, right. Ten foot pole, yeah? ” Rose kicked away the frying pan she had used to clock her fiancee, then stared wide-eyed at the ground in all directions just in case the shadow made for someone‘s scraped up knee. “I guess it’s silly, but I wish Jack were here with us, yeah?”

 

The Doctor smiled over at her through a growing haze, suddenly too weary to nod, or even to speak. He was going to go unconscious, soon. He really ought to… really ought to… warn her…

 

But he passed out just as the slim shape of Half-Ten gathered itself over Rose’s head. Stifling a cry, she reached for him, then stiffened as the darkness swallowed her shadow.

 

“You are in my way, Little Wolf,” he said softly, his mouth filling with bruised wet worms of darkness , and many voices that screeched like flames in the ear, “My kind and I were ancient when the Time Lords were little more than sand crabs sifting plankton. The Doctor and I… oh, we go way back. I don’t want much, just his unborn children; they hold the key to my own revival. Now watch as I reach inside his womb and consume him from within!” Then the thing controlling him raised his hand, caressing her chin and cheek with fingers she had once loved, now dark with inky splotches.

 

“And why’s that, you ugly thing? Why’s it that whenever there’s sumfin’ evil about, they all got the same stupid plan? I mean, really…” She almost choked then, as she looked over at the Doctor. Naturally, he was asleep on the job. The shadow was so cold, despite the afternoon sun pouring down… but she imagined this thing might have existed before then, so…. No luck there. Think Rose, think!

 

That made the darkness shudder, somewhat. She struggled to contain her excitement as she considered what she’d said, going over and over it until-

 

“…Little Wolf. You say there are others with my power who have come before? Why did I not sense their presence?”

 

Without a follow-up to that, Rose was floundering on a hook... what else could she say?

 

“Hahaha. You think to deceive me, as if your puny little deceptions could make a difference to me. Very amusing. But I want my food now.”

 

Lines of blue crawled up Half-Ten’s face like slimy little veins then, and he… pulsed with an emanating sense of foulness… Was it just Rose’s imagination, or was there a shuffling noise behind her?

 

“Urg… now I’ve got you, you egotistical old blowhard! Move, Rose, now!”

 

Perplexed, she dove to the right, just in time to see an ocean of blackness pour from the Metacrisis’ mouth… tentacles flexed, spilling from behind his teeth like a cloud of despair… writhing and pulsing with gory blue life.

 

But then she smiled, because there was a strange gold handbag in the Doctor’s hand.

 

They found each other’s faces… he clicked open the purse with his arms outstretched as though he smelt something rotten- pointing the unseen contents at the mound of tentacles that were thrusting out of Half-Ten’s mouth in waves…

 

Many-Voices screamed and screeched, railing as bit after bit of tentacle crunched inside itself, imploding into dust until every visible evidence was gone.

 

Half-Ten collapsed back, his chest heaving despite the fact his eyes were closed. Both of them could see he was unconscious.

 

“Doctor! Oh my god, did we do it?” Rose laughed nervously, palming a pebble and tossing it at Half-Ten’s head.

 

She didn’t see the last, small, weak tendril of black that escaped Half-Ten’s mouth, at first. She heard rather than saw as it fed on Half-Ten’s shadow… then it enveloped the Doctor, filling his mouth and lifting him bodily, shaking him like a doll in the air, and then…

 

And then his body struck the brick wall of their new house, knocking more of them loose in a rain on top of her. She stumbled backward just in time, just in time to see the unconscious Time Lord flop to the ground after sliding halfway down the two story wall.


	12. Chapter 12

A flash; a whiz; a bang.

 

Time to reflect, again.

 

“You know, Shubby,” the Doctor said softly as he floated in the cavernous dark of what he fervently hoped was his own mind, “… we really ought to stop meeting like this.”

 

Presence, prescience. An old reflection boomed from all of everywhere, dampening the drone of the lesser minds outside his relaxing little metaphor of limbo.

 

“Lesser? Really? What a choice of words. Have you gone senile? Erm, don’t answer that. And for that matter, what is this I’m wearing?” The Doctor’s voice bubbled and steamed with mild and merry agitation, and as he  _spoke,_  if you could call it that, colors erupted from his lips with each word, licks of gold and little drop in the bucket curls of velvety violet. Been a while since he’d  been in a dive like this… 

 

As he floated, belatedly he noticed that he was still wearing Pete’s nice long duster-style blue pea-coat… comfy, loose-fitting, dark green jeans… What was this, walking in the park one day? In May no less? Blimey. Why should he care what clothes he appeared to be wearing in a mental construct of reality? The only other patron was Shub Niggurath, and he/she/it didn’t care, being prone to lifting and separating, on occasion. He could be wearing a ladies’ bra and no under-things, and the old battle axe wouldn’t bat any of its several billion eyes. Naturally he was barefoot, of course. How nostalgic.

 

“Oh well look who’s not talking. And look at me,” he mused, patting the imaginary image of his stomach with imaginary children inside; thankfully everyone was well and accounted for, if a bit mistaken for a martini. You never could tell, with constructs.

 

  

  1. “… I’m warm and cozy. In a place where there’s no sense of cold. What do you want, Shubby? I’m a very busy mommy, er, man. Trouble is, you’ve grown so pompous and ancient you’ve neglected the first rule of remotely interesting warfare, namely the word interesting!  Ring any bells? I swear… whatever has become of the good old days when evil-types instilled actual fear instead of that reconstituted stuff in those short tins next to the powdered milk?”
  



 

Words slid along the boundaries of… whatever and wherever and whenever it was, like little luminescent jellyfish. Well, it looked like that when  _he_ talked, anyway. With Shubby it was more like playing tag with an  ocean-liner covered in dank oil… poor birds…

 

“About… that… If you would like to know why I bothered saving you and all your inconsequential little pets, why don’t you just ask?”

 

The Doctor snorted. There was, predictably, no sound, although, several veins of menacing blue light sparked briefly in the dark. “Because I know what you want. You want the flesh, you want to feel those sensations which allow you to savour such ephemeral, pointless concepts as dominion.”

 

Again a slight rumble. Was that apprehension he detected, or just the shivering of his own body, sensed vicariously?

 

“Reprimand of this nature is meaningless to one such as me.”

 

“Then why bother replying? God, you’re so transparent it’s almost sad to watch. Did you get bored feeding off the corpses of your brothers and sisters and decide ‘Ooo I think I’ll have the cheesecake?’”

 

No response.

 

No response.

 

…

 

No response.

 

The Doctor considered this, then thought carefully about the possibility of a favorable taste test involving jammy dodgers and baked cod…

 

“ _My Other. My Doctor. Soon you will be my mother…_ ” cooed the Old One, emitting a distant giggle, low and throated, rather like that of a rabid hyena, “… let me in.  I was wrong to force the issue, before. But, after I am born, I will write your name in the stars. I will give you everlasting honour.”

 

What a chore, thought the Time Lord drearily. “Ah, think I’ll pass, thanks. I already did that and got the tee shirt. Named a constellation after myself. See?” He stuck a finger animatedly here and there, with the inevitable goal of poking holes in the fabric of wherever and whenever it was they were. Dots of light sparkled for a few seconds… “Honestly though, I forget the name I used. Comes from having too many.”

 

That punctuated by a pointed glare into the aether. Wasn’t it time he was getting back to relative reality? He found himself suddenly desiring a plateful of jelly baby and potato crisp sandwiches covered in nine kinds of gravy… interesting. He made a mental note.

 

“Your body is craving menial,  tedious sustenance again, so I will leave you now, little Time Lord,” the voice of Shub Niggurath droned, flying through him in a storm of parts like a maddened flock of red-eyed gulls, “Oh, and I’ve left the two clumps of bleeding meat that are growing in my place unharmed. I knew you would be pleased,  _Mother_.”

 

“Why should any self-respecting creature believe a word you say? You're little more than a mutated lobster, long overdue for a good salt and boil! And maybe a garnish of delicious peppery arugula, with some clarified butter and fresh squeezed lemon…”

 

He knew when a conversation was over. Eventually. Swift and immediate, the will of something massive crumpled him up, squeezing him into a ball. Then silence in general was filled again with the oddness of sensation, the joy of cooking smells, the sounds of people trying to be quiet. And not for the first time in his life, someone had taken great pains to lay him out on something soft…


	13. Chapter 13

A flood of hazy images.

 

The scent of violently spilled lifeblood in the nostrils; thick, menacing. Permanent.

 

Terror.

 

An ocean unfathomed by any one mind spread across forever.

 

Beans on toast in the morning.

 

Rose, laughing in the daylight of New Earth.

 

The smell of apple grass.

 

Separation…

 

The inevitable washing of hands.

 

Semblance.

 

Rose naked against his nakedness, nature guiding them both through _la petit danse_.

 

Dream upon dream upon dream, like stone steps in the middle of a lake- but was he coming out or going in?

 

Small miracle?

 

A pale boy of ten, archaic and pretty with intense eyes of blue and black hair that shines appears to him. The child walks through empty halls, his face always calm, always radiant.

 

How could this be the Great Old One?

 

 Suddenly, a wrenching up; the darkness is soft; it is warm.

 

Does he really want to leave? He’s not an outcast in his own mind, here… he doesn’t even care what happens outside this.

 

What he wants doesn’t matter.

 

Someone is pounding on his chest.


	14. Chapter 14

“We’ll be fine, Rose,” the Doctor murmured hoarsely, shaking off brick dust and coughing as his former companion flung brick after brick away from his crumpled body.

 

She held back though, chewing on that one word, we, for just a breath or two before her fingers wrapped around another broken red brick, this one badly chipped and rough with bits of porous mortar. “Why did the… Old One do this? Why did it toss you against the wall, but not any of us? Did you step on its toes or somethin’?”

 

A weary sigh, instead of the laugh she was expecting. At least the eyes were bright, though.

 

.. “No, Rose- it attacked me because it wants something, and it knows I can take more abuse than any of you, save Gabriel. If it wanted to kill me, any of us, really, it could have done so at any time. Its reach is far beyond anything we can affect. That’s just… not what it wants. Its whims are simply unknowable. Therefore, everyone’s still alive, and I’m still pregnant.”

 

“You’re what? Oh my god, all those bricks, and the wall!” said Rose, jerking up from where she sat holding Half-Ten’s hand. “How do you know?”

 

“I’m a complicated space-time event. Did you know I was at the center of the Big Bang? That was the TARDIS, blowing up. My new companion Amy and her husband Rory saved my bacon. Oh, dear, bit of a spoiler, that… try and forget I mentioned it, okay?”

 

 “No, I meant… about your bein’… bein’ a dad again. But, how would it, you know… come out?” she called over her shoulder.

 

“Looks like we got here just in time,” a voice mused. Then a golden-haired woman and a tall man with dirty blonde hair zapped into existence behind the Doctor. “I’m River Song, and this is the archangel Gabriel. Hello again, Doctor. You look the worse for wear.” She took the Doctor’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Fine time to be lying about, in your state. And you’d do well to remember that I was there that day, too, Sweetie,” she said as she rubbed circles into his lower back, "Why don't you have Gabriel accelerate your gestation, just to be safe? Careful now, head between your knees, darling."

 

“What makes you think my _bloody nephew_ can do it any better than I can?”he whined, screwing up his face at her.

 

“Yes, but you’ve been injured, and Gabriel can heal you much faster than you can yourself. Why don’t you think about it after you’ve had some rest, all right? I’ll be close by!” she teased, curving her bottom lip in a half-smirk as she went to sit by Half-Ten with Rose.

 

“Don’t… don’t _do_ that!” the Doctor said, running a hand through his floppy hair. His manhood, he noticed drearily, was tenting in his pants after her. Damn his supposedly superior Time Lord genes, damn the situation, and Damn. That. Woman.

 

“Down, boy!” a glib, conspiratorial tenor murmured from above him.

 

He looked up to see Gabriel crouching beside, and wished he hadn’t. The archangel’s hand flattened across his shoulder blades as the blood rushed from his head all at once and he swooned.

 

“Annnnnnd- he’s out!” the angel called out merrily as he kept his uncle from falling.

 

For a split second, Rose felt her stomach sink as she watched River watch Gabriel lay the Doctor out on the grass with surprising care, as though the Time Lord were a puppy who’d been hit by a car.

 

“You’re his wife, aren’t you?” she asked, reaching down to caress Half-Ten’s face.

 

River looked askance at her as she checked Half-Ten’s pulse again. “Yes, sweetheart, I am. His future, my past.”

 

She blinked then, allowing herself a rueful little smile as she added, “I swear, this regeneration is so tense around me. It’s almost as if he knows something he’s not telling.”

 

Rose laughed nervously, her lower lip trembling despite herself.

 

“River… do you think we’ll all be okay at the end of this? Angels!  John’s been more distant, and the Doctor- well, he looks more open in some ways I s’pose, this bein’ a new regeneration an’ what, but mostly, he just looks…”

 

She shook her head and reached down to brush back a lock of Half-Ten’s… no, _John’s_ hair.

 

“Tired?” the older woman supplied sadly as she applied a slight smack to the Metacrisis’ thin cheek. “Wake up, pretty boy- your wife wants to see you.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> most of this chapter -except for a few tiny bits here and there- was written by tardis-mole. We're good kids, what. We share.

Gabriel laid him on the bed, still complaining that he could walk on his own two feet if they had but given him the chance. The Doctor lay back, huffing with annoyance, staring at the ceiling.

“I am quite all right. Really!” he insisted stiffly. But his argument was rhetorical, and Gabriel knew it.

 

 

‘Course, his voice wasn’t all that was stiff. That bit, he reasoned, was best left ignored. But him! And… her! Oh yes, her…the reason why he was feeling… out of sorts. Well, he would get to her in a moment, good willing.  He wasn’t done with his internal dialogue, yet.

 

 

Being so fruitful was kind of… nice. Not exactly natural to grow this much in little more than a day, but the angel had done as he’d asked and quickened his babies’ bodies where they nestled. The extra girth felt marvelous and loved, for all that it was smushing his organs into grape juice like a sack of mutant tubers. Two of em, sacks of mutant tubers that is. The twins _would_ stop growing before long; he was already at his seventh month, and looking like a house. Thankfully, though, not a house that was bigger on the inside. Although, the idea did have merit…

 

 

“You can go now,” he said a little more gently as the angel patted the rising mound of Time Lord belly, then gave an obviously suggestive wink as he shut the door behind him.

 

 

Instead of the cacophony of departing footsteps he would rather not have heard, only silence filled the Doctor’s ears. His senses flicked to the room beyond the door; Gabriel had really left, perhaps even returned to the other universe, and had made no sound in doing it. How did he do that? He wondered at it. Well he knew the theory behind it, but… maybe he could get the archangel to show him personally later? Ha. If there _was_ a later. Best not to go there, Theta, he reminded himself, your wife _, from the future, mind!_  is still in the room.

 

 

Oh yes, the only other person left in the room was River, and her smirk. Did that count as two? Perhaps it did. It seemed to move before her to the bed, where she sat down on the edge of it, next to him. Her gentle eyes, blue for the moment, were sparkling at him… and her hand on his cheek…

 

 

Good god, he was easy!

 

 

He followed the trail of her fingertip along his jaw and lips, and envisioned he could see it blazing slowly down his neck along the line of his skin where he usually wore his bowtie. He imagined his breath caught in his throat as that same finger penned intricate missives down his shirt, only to circle about in a tight knot on his chest and travel further down to his belly. A slight whimper tried to escape him and failed miserably, cut short in its prime, nipped in the bud. The finger had become three- he _thought_ … couldn’t be sure, though. They seemed to linger for a moment on the rounded belly, not that anyone had noticed it. It was his perception, but he thought he was huge.

 

 

And the hand wandered lower, like it was thinking of stopping. He didn’t think it would.

 

 

His breathing fluttered again, like a tiny glottal stop. River always knew how to make him feel aroused. She could do it with just a smirk. Across the room. And she knew it, the rotten minx… oh my. Never mind. Very _good_ , very _fresh_ minx. She was being this careful because she didn’t want him to pass out like he’d done outside on the grass.

 

 

Oh, he wanted _so much_ to lift his hands, to return those touches, but he was just too exhausted. Too sore. Too big. Big! Erm, not big, don’t like big. He’d gotten slapped for saying a great many things he shouldn’t more than once in his long life. Too _pregnant._ That’s what he meant. And of course, he would never be so rude as to call a pregnant woman big… actually he had. Once. At least she hadn’t hit him very hard! Thank someone for small favours.

 

 

He was here on Pete’s World now. And he was pregnant, yes, very pregnant; about to give birth yet again and quite soon, at any rate. Gabriel had been a dear, speeding the process up so that he’d grown the rest of the eight? or was it seven? months in a day and a half. Although, it left you feeling a bit… what was the word... trippy.

 

 

And here was River… she was reminding him that he was still a man. Her husband… yes, a good way to remind him of all the aspects of their being married… even if he hadn’t technically been the Doctor that was present at the time.

 

 

“Oh…!” he grumbled in a strangled gasp. “Too tired… for what I want… to do…”

 

 

His eyes fluttered shut as he fell asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

River laid her hand against her lover’s face. The Doctor’s skin was a little warm, but not alarmingly so, so she pulled the soft white coverlet away from his body to let him cool off.

 

Rose had, naturally, called her mother and father, who’d come rushing over.

 

Jackie Tyler was a whirlwind of pink around her daughter’s new two-storey, unpacking dishes, dusting, cleaning. Currently, she was cooking a feast with _seemingly_ only a microwave and a packet of frozen peas. Peter Tyler knew to stay out of her way. He was a wise man, was Pete.

 

But Jackie, now, the Doctor would give her nine kinds of hell, for those peas. Of course, River planned on being there to make sure he ate every one of them, if he made a fuss.

 

Suddenly her hand was covered; long fingers snaked through hers, grabbing them together over the Doctor’s face and holding them loosely, with boldness.

 

“Hello, sleepyhead,” she said softly, feeling a smile tilt her lips as her husband opened bleary green eyes to stare upward. “… you’re due today. If you plan on coming down, be careful. Rose called her parents over to help with things. And don’t fall down the stairs- in your state it might just knock the cheeky boy right out of you. That reminds me…”

 

“Oi, and his cheeky sister, at this rate, although I have to admit, I’d rather they stay safe than meet the world. Who cares about my back. Or my hips.” The Doctor rubbed at his stomach, then looked up at her with more innocence than even _she_ thought he was capable of.

 

“Beautiful boy…” she whispered softly.

 

 _Then_ he blushed.

 

Her hand left his, her voluptuous body gorgeous in jeans, a plaid shirt and flowing white tank, her lioness locks only slightly tamed by the floppy lines of a white sunhat as she flowed across the room to the armoire. She reached for the handle and pulled, revealing the ornate chiffarobe’s spacious interior.

 

He scowled. The only thing inside was an overlarge white button-up shirt and a pair of white yoga pants. No nasty elastic, thank heaven. She’d obviously remembered his sensitive skin.

 

With one hand on the edge of the bed, he pushed himself up into cross-legs just in time to see her reach into the cabinet and pull out the clothes.

 

Then, insult to injury- she called out “Shirt!” as if scoring an eagle at golf.

 

Come on, now,” she coaxed, holding up the button-up and grinning, “…sanitize yourself and then I’ll help get this on you. The dinner smells like it’s ready.”

 

The Doctor sniffed the air, suspicious of the delicious smells emanating from the ground floor. He drew deep lungfuls of cracking spice and simmering peas and sizzling meat, lightly oiled yellow and purple carrots, braised thick leeks and sautéed, peppery arugula. He could pick out the sharp, spiky scent of Rose’s kiwi shampoo… and reveled not so secretly in the subtle lily wash of natural perfume that was River Song. The bleachy scent of Jackie’s hair dye mixed, oddly enough, not unpleasantly with whatever she was preparing at that moment, probably a combination of Peter Tyler and scalloped potatoes, judging by the sudden spike in the poor man’s pheromones.

 

“Have you seen John around, River? I haven’t spoken with him since before Gabriel ah, you know, hastened things along.” He murmured it half-absently, keeping one eye on her as he activated his body’s natural cleansing enzymes, and then, just to make sure she couldn’t get the best of him, “… and of course I’ll eat the peas. For the babies’ sake.”

 

River half-turned then, ready with the shirt as her favorite Time Lord took a breath, then pushed himself up the rest of the way to stand beside the bed.

 

He sighed. Perhaps she just hadn’t heard him.

 

“I feel like a stuffed turkey, River,” he said carefully, willing himself not to pale and let on as his brain, foggy with hormones and sleep, tried to run scenarios.

 

But it was like forcing cheese through cloth.

 

And she was watching him, noticing the things he did. Surely he was just still woozy from growing?

 

He managed a wan smile, and patted his middle for effect as he spoke. “Aren’t you going to come up with a cheeky retort? You really _should_ have done by _now_. Is something wrong? You’re looking at me rather strangely. I know! Maybe I’m bleeding all over Rose’s bedspread and I’m too numb to notice. Shall we… have a short look?” He batted his green eyes at her, adding a bit of extra sparkle, just for show.

 

As if on cue, River Song perked, smiling, and started to speak once again.

 

“Don’t joke like that, Sweetie,” she said, holding out a leg of the white pants so he would be forced to stuff his foot in it, “…you’ll sour your stomachs for dinner if you dwell too much now. Just relax, and enjoy tonight. Jackie’s made something special for you.”

 

He barely stopped himself from staring as she knelt before him with the other pant leg, concern flashing for the briefest of moments across her pretty hazel eyes before she busied herself with hefting his other leg into the offending pair of pants.

 

“Well, be that as it may, I still could posit that she’s just fattening me up for Shub Niggurath.”

 

That golden sun head of bronze-y curls shot up; her eyes were aflame now. Obviously he’d said something foolish.

 

He held his head and shoved his eyebrows up into their “Yes I’m sorry, now what?” position, hoping she wouldn’t smack him too hard. It would mess up his hair.

 

But she just… looked at him, not smiling, not doing anything; nothing to do really, except memorize his face. So she did.

 

They stared at each other for several minutes.

 

We should go downstairs, Theta,” she murmured, tugging the rim of her sunhat like a certain French general might have tugged at his tricorne, “…and don’t compare me to Napoleon Bonaparte again, if you want a massage later.”

 

With that, she began undoing a couple of the buttons at the bottom hem of his big white shirt.

 

“What? Why are you doing that?”

 

She didn’t say anything at first, just kept undoing buttons until she got to the fourth one up. When she did finally say something, her voice was softer than it had been for the entirety of the morning.

 

“Your baby weight is beautiful, Doctor. You should show it off.” Her voice was clipped, decisive.

 

He’d made a mistake. _Again._ Oh dear. Was he ever going to stop making those?

 

He moved past her silent form, trying his best not to deflate by first attempting the door and then, by some miracle, managing it. Then he started down the short balcony hallway to the stairs, his hand firmly trailing against the only available wall for support.

 

When he reached the stairs he stopped, wrapped his hand around the rail about a foot from the steps and rested, waiting without much hope for the sound of footsteps behind him as he undid two more buttons on his shirt in afterthought.

 

Couldn’t hurt.


	17. Chapter 17

He’d fallen asleep at dinner, nearly passing out in the soup.

 

Now, though, he wakened stiffly, quickly, as a hot, unwelcome needle shoved through his nethers and pierced his lower back. Time, Time Lord, he told himself. Time for his two little miracles.

 

“Ah, having twins in here!” he called, suddenly able to draw more air again after a day and a half of breathlessness, “... Jackie! Oh lord.”

 

Jackie and Pete were in the kitchen, having tea at the little table. He knew because their cups kept clinking.

 

The mixer was running. Perhaps they hadn’t heard him?

 

With a groan he pushed up from the couch and nearly fell flat when he stepped in something wet. Grimly, he looked down, first at the indescribable mess of bloody gush on the floor, then at the dark stain on the couch he knew would be there. A bit too much blood for his liking, but then he’d always been a show-off. It was all right. For now.

 

“How to get… Jackie’s attention?” he muttered as he grabbed his stomach and waddled toward the kitchen entry, resting himself on the backs of chairs and the corners of tables along the way. “Jackie, I’ve murdered your upholstery!” <singsong>

 

Jackie and her husband were sitting at the little table, having tea. She hadn’t heard a word. Perhaps Pete, though.

 

He tiptoed to the doorway and leaned against it, gritting his teeth against a scream. Oh yes- it was time to turn his pain receptors down a notch; possibly every notch… Despite his best efforts though, he found that some semblance of the sound he had been going to make crept past him, its remains emerging as a kind of low whimper. Thankfully, this turned heads.

 

“Oh, is that you, love?” said Jackie, smiling brightly at him.

 

Obviously she and her husband were having a nice time.

 

“You look rubbish. Want some orange juice? Might put some color back,” Pete offered, then reached for a carafe full of the stuff, sloshing it around quite nauseatingly before pouring a tumbler and holding it out to him with a small, cheery smile.

 

Ignoring the normally unoffending tumbler, the Doctor watched the liquid swirl around the glass pitcher for a few moments, mesmerized by the physical properties of the fructose and L-ascorbate-rich fluid as he readied himself for the next wave. Then he felt a certain, singular constriction of the throat, and made for the sink.

 

Pete Tyler swallowed, then quietly poured the juice back in the carafe as Jackie pushed her chair out with her legs and came round the table to rub circles on the Time Lord’s back.

 

“Is it normal for you to be chuckin’ up now, or d’ya think it was coz of the angel?”

 

The alien turned on the tap, then splashed his mouth with water before turning away from the basin. “Meh. I think it’s pretty normal, considering the fact that I’m in labour and there’s an insane demigod running amok.” He patted Jackie’s cheek and grinned cheekily. “The membrane’s ruptured all over your couch, though. I’m so sorry, but I was asleep when it happened.”

 

“Oh, you! Just like yer to think I’d give you what for for something like this! This is a blessed event, not a footballers’ after-party!”

 

The Doctor had to smile, despite the pain; Jackie Tyler was a good woman, and she knew he knew it. “Are you sure about that?” he quipped, rubbing his twinging abdomen. “Unfortunately, I’m only about 2 and a half centimetres dilated, so unless I keep my pain receptors switched off, it could be rough going.”

 

As she watched him rock his body, Jackie’s mouth made an O. “You can do that? Could have used that with Rose and Tony…” she kept at his back as he leaned over the sink, using the counter for support as he dragged through another contraction. “And what’s this _only_ two and a half? I was done before this with Tony!”

 

He just laughed, sucked in a breath; laughed again. “I could have them right now, if I wanted. Time Lords have… oh, that was… complete conscious and subconscious control over their bodies, barring special circumstances. But I would rather not interfere, unless conditions warrant. I _want_ to feel this. Didn’t get to properly, with Hosannah. Wasn’t very fair. But that’s done with now. Now we have to… oh there’s another one… focus on these two itty bitties!”

 

The door squeaked. Two little footsteps scuffed ever so quietly in the corner.

 

“… oh lord, why not…” breathed the Doctor, his sharper senses registering instantly the reason for the sound. “I spy… with my little… eye… something… starting with… a T!” He sank a little more to the floor, then added with a delighted lilt, “…and its name is Tony So-Smart, who plays behind the door and listens to what we say!”

 

Jackie’s eyes widened and she looked at Pete. Then they both looked at the Doctor as their young son let out a squeaky giggle and ran out from the shadow of the door, his arms sticking out like he was an airplane.

 

“Mister Floppy Hair made lots of red on mummy’s couch,” the little boy said, stuffing his fingers in his mouth as he watched the Doctor with wide eyes. “Is lots of red bad for baby? Like when I get a slice from the draween paper?”

 

The Time Lord nearly clapped a hand to his mouth in pure glee, before he remembered that doing so would send him to the floor. He was holding onto the sink edge rather tightly, and his knuckles were turning white. So he let himself sink down a bit more, forcing a smile for Tony the whole way.

 

“Yes, Tony. Sometimes it can be bad. But I… oooh… don’t think it’s gonna be… ooooh… this time, okay? I really think so. So don’t be frightened. My babies are trying… to come out right -now, and it… hurts quite a bit. But… that’s okay. Don’t be frightened. And… oh-ow-ow-ow, if you… uhg… have a question, you can… ask your mum or your dad, eh?” He turned to Jackie and Pete. “Is that all right… with you two? If it’s not, I…” he stopped then, his sunken eyes growing wide as he stared off into space. Then he slid down into a crouch, his heaving body leaning against Jackie’s undersink cabinets as he desperately clung to the side of the sink, which was now above his head.

 

“RIVER?” He mouthed the scream, holding his stomach and sobbing as he struck a fist against the hard wood. “Oh god, Jackie… Pete… where… the hell… has everyone… gone? Do not lie to me; I’ll know. Just… just tell me. Please.”

 

“ They’re… about, sweetheart, just breathe and blow, that’s right, love,” said Jackie, looking from him to her husband and back again, “I know you’re an alien and all, but it should help, shouldn’t it?” To Pete, she said, “Oh Petey, he looks spent. Maybe we should wake Rose up.”

 

“I told you not to lie to me, Jackie. I’m not a babe in the bloody woods! AGH!”

 

He was squirming now, adjusting his pelvis and hips with minute little movements impossible for a human to make. Tears were leaking down his cheeks. Somewhere to his left, Pete was picking a drooping Tony up, probably to put him to bed- the little thing hadn’t been yet, he didn’t think. Then there was Rose, asleep in her room. If he hadn’t been in so much pain he would have laughed at the idea of Pete trying to explain to his daughter why they’d let her miss so much.

 

“I wish Jack were here,” the Doctor whimpered, his chin pitting as he strained. “Oh bloody hell and thank heaven, the girl’s crowning! She’ll be out before I…”

 

His body rocked back then forward while his uterine structures shrank, pulling what passed for his cervix up like a telescope, the swollen muscles crawling, rippling visibly under his pallid skin.

 

Pete and, judging by the feminine gasp, Rose, came into the kitchen then.

 

She was, understandably, hypnotized by the sight of him hunching half-naked in a spreading pool of blood with a baby’s head poking from his nethers.

 

“Hey.” He managed weakly. A smile was beyond him as he pushed again, feeling his baby’s shoulders butt against the back of his opening. Rose was here! Rose was here… and Tony was gone. Tony was gone, yes… now he could scream.

 

A little more.

 

A little more.

 

Someone, he thought it was Jackie, kept talking to him… he supposed it was meant to be encouraging, but really… it just… why couldn’t they just… just SHUT UP!

 

Oops. He hadn’t realized he’d said that out loud. Had he?

 

Really? He couldn’t… he hadn’t meant…

 

Dully, as though from far away, he felt the fingers petting his head flinch, and almost instantly remorse flooded his brain; he tried to apologize. Must have worked, because the hand kept stroking his hair.

 

He didn’t remember falling backward, but he was lying on the floor now, numb and practically blind to everything but the shrinking and the bleeding and the screaming. And the tearing.

 

There was a comfy pillow under his head. He was shaking. His limbs were cold, his fingers and toes getting colder by the moment.

 

Somewhere in the house, a door swung open onto the rain hitting the grass outside, and two sets of footsteps came in from the storm.

 

“Oh. That’s a lot of blood, River,” John said softly as they both stared at the empty, red-sodden couch. “Do you think he’s had them alr- oof!”

 

She smelled the air once then grabbed his neck-scarf, dragging him into the kitchen.

 

“Shit. John, Pete, get flannels,” she snarled as she charged through the kitchen, her soaked whites and bare feet cutting a swath through the bloody pool that was, yes, still spreading. Jackie was on the floor beside him, holding his hand. Her own fingers were purple in his. For him to lose enough control to actually harm her…

 

Rose had his head and was petting him, almost desperately now. “It’s the first one, a girl…” she signed with her free hand. “… the little thing’s stuck. And he’s exhausted.”

 

River’s face softened into dough for an instant as she looked down at him, lying there, weak and miserable and beautiful at once. “My wonderful, stupid darling, whatever possessed you to do this without me here?” She knelt in the deep red fluid and pressed a hand to his face. God, he was so cold he was shaking.

 

No… that wasn’t just cold; it was shock as well. Which meant nasty things if they couldn’t get his temperature back up.

 

She paused; he was stirring from that horrible stupor. He was trying to say… something.

 

“Not… not my… fault. Was sleeping. M’ sorry, River. M’sorry. M’sorry! M’sorry! M’sorry!... M…sorry. I’m…” He sobbed it, over and over until he went breathless and he couldn’t anymore, his face a pale streak of nothing in the dim kitchen lights. “It’s just… you got mad at me earlier and then I fell asleep in my soup and then John wasn’t here and Rose was asleep, and… it just hurts so much... I can’t turn it off!” He rose up then, making her start as he moved with a sudden fluid burst of strength, coming close enough to her face so that he could just about clutch her breast- which was all he could grab. He squeezed, so hard she knew she’d have a bruise after everything was over. “I can’t…” Then his eyes grew wide and he stiffened for a brief second before going limp into Rose’s waiting arms.

 

River Song said nothing. She did, however, touch a finger to the Doctor’s forehead.

 

 _“Sleep,”_ she commanded flatly. Then she turned to Jackie and John and Pete and smiled that ruby lipped femme fatale smile. “You won’t remember a word of what I’m going to tell you, so I have no problem saying it. You see,” she started, getting on one knee and taking off her shirt, “I am a Time Lord, too. A different kind than him, from the timeline he erased… but still a Time Lord, just the same. I should never have been born. But I have him now and I’m not letting go. I love this man, his great work, his spirit and his mind, anything and everything _of_ him; or rather, I _will_.”

 

Not one of them breathed. Not one of them dared.

 

She turned to each one of them before coming back to Jackie. Then she looked the woman in the eye and said, “…get me some scissors and hot water. It’s time to play nursie.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

Jack Harkness watched in horror as the polished, wet black eyes of a demon-possessed Lucy Liu suddenly appeared before him, popping out of its respective corner of this side of the quantum manifold created by the Archangels and the TARDIS.

 

“Jack, Honey,” Lucifer murmured demurely, his face growing like a No-Face with a long neck from the Old Girl’s subtly hulking hull of blue wood, “... we all ignore Raphael. You can too. He’s not a real Archangel. But our boy Castiel is the real deal. In fact, you should see him on the nightclub circuit when he gets plastered. And you know ,” added the demon, his eyes flitting occasionally over little Hosannah sleeping in Jack’s arms, “... that body of yours Uncle screwed with... it’s rather nice. Maybe I’ll borrow it and go try some fish and chips... it’s been a while...”

 

Jack felt his eyes go wide.

 

“Ah, I really don’t think the Doctor would approve of your taking me for a test drive, Lucifer...” he said, blinking away the shock crawling up his spine like the first bite of a sour candy when you’re five years old.

 

Lucifer ignored him, choosing instead to giggle like a prostitute as he replied, “Uh-huh. And speaking of chips, it looks like Uncle just popped a couple crispies.”

 

Jack stood up; Hosannah squirmed a little, Jack bouncing her in her sleep to keep her from waking up again.

 

“He’s had them, then? Oh thank God,” Jack said, eyes glancing down at Hosannah.

 

Lucifer smiled again, grinning even wider as Castiel’s head appeared at the opposite corner, poking out like the wooden mermaid on a prow as the Devil added further, “Our Great and Glorious Sky Daddy had nothing to do with it. I’d put my money on Castiel and Gabriel. And oh yes. Aunty.”

 

“Since I am an... Archangel now, Lucifer, I should warn you that if you do any harm to Uncle or his family I will not hesitate to use my newfound powers to...”

 

Lucifer smiled at this, amusing himself by turning his head and smashing his pretty face against the blue wood so he could see Castiel, whose blue eyes threatened holy fire in a sideways glance peppered with confused loyalty and a hint of idiot. The Devil said flatly, “... not so fast, Princess. What the Prude Bored giveth, the Prude Bored can taketh away.”

Castiel was not phased.

 

He parted his lips, thought carefully, then added, “...in the words of Dean Winchester, Bite Me.”

 

Lucifer considered that perhaps he would again grow bored of smiling as he said in reply, “...ooo, one of the Seven Deadlies! Is that a proposition? Well, if you insist. Dinner at my place, say, seven-thirty?”

 

Suddenly both Archangels raised their heads; a message from Michael.

 

“You two! Cease this mindless rambling! Raphael is openly betraying us- we must be vigilant. We must be ready for his next move, now that Aunty is distracted by Uncle.”

 

“But isn’t he right THERE?” Lucifer mused sarcastically, suddenly manifesting his hands and using one to point at Gabriel’s corner of the TARDIS, then clapping the other to his mouth, “... ooops. My bad. Oh, someone’s going to be in trouble now...”

 

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Jack asked the Devil, feeling the need to pace back and forth across the room, trailing his un-hitched braces.

 

At that, Lucifer’s disembodied lips appeared on the wood like two juicy black plums, moving as if to say:

 

“...the Weird Part of Youtube. Duh.”

 

Then Jack clutched the Colt across Hosannah’s sleeping form, mouthing a gun-shaped prayer.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Rhys looked at his wife from across the Men of Letters’ basement.

 

There was a gun in her hand. A big one. Another big gun.

 

In so many ways, that had seemed like a travesty in the recent days.

 

But here, it...

 

“Rhys? Sweet?” Gwen called, breaking his daydream, “...I’m gonna need your help setting up a perimeter.”

 

“A perimeter! Damn I love wives with guns,” said Dean, grinning his usual and casting an approving glance at his brother, who just shrugged him off with a small smile, “... awesome great setup we got here. How is the Doc? Any word from Cas yet?”

 

BAMF!

 

A tall, handsome black angel in a tasteful suit appeared in the middle of the passway through the tables, his angelic presence throwing sheaves of papers off and sending Sam’s computer into meltdown mode.

 

“Williams, Winchesters,” the angel said gravely, turning his head to stare at both of them, “...it is not safe here. I must take you and the child elsewhere.”

 

Dean held his breath, then let out a long, obnoxious sort of sigh- the kind of sigh that only a parent could ever appreciate. Hell, he’s been almost dad often enough. Why not?

 

“Uh, nuh-uh. We aren’t goin’ to town with you, tall dark and Chippendale, no sirree Bob. We still remember the last time you tried to play dollies!”

 

But Dean never got to finish his sentence.

 

Anwen, in his gym bag crib, started crying, his little face bunching red like a tiny beet with eyes and ears.

 

Raphael turned to him, then looked back at the Williams and the Winchesters.

 

“Michael has gone insane and betrayed us, and given Castiel my powers as an Archangel; the others may not know of Michael’s madness. I have been masquerading as Gabriel, taking care of our Uncle, the Doctor while he gave birth. The twins were fine when I left. The Magdalene is there with him; you know her as River Song, the Doctor’s wife. Winchesters, I... we must go; the Old One will slip through these wards like strings and wriggle inside each of you if we do not leave no...AGH!”

 

Raphael’s voice cut off as he shoved Anwen at Dean and Sam, just as a giant slimy tentacle snuck out from the shadow of a bookshelf and relieved him of his right arm, dangling it like a piece of sushi.

 

“Gwen, Rhys! Go with them! Hold to them- I will transport you with my last effort! Go now!”

 

The former Archangel then pulled Rhys and Gwen toward him the Winchesters, so that all four and the baby were near his remaining arm- near enough to zap them into the next universe.

 

“Okay, but... Raphael, you... damn, this is...” Sam started.

 

But then they were not in the basement any longer.


	20. Chapter 20

“That was close...” John said absently, wringing his hair with a languid hand, “I’m going to go... ah, check on the... TARDIS in the back garden. I’ll... be back in... in a moment...”

 

A flood of faces was all he could decipher as he crumbled slowly back away from the others, back into the solitude of the backrooms, away from them. Away from everything.

 

Into the mysteries.

 

In the dark, he could see the tentacles raging all around; they stood still for him, now.

 

It hadn’t been the same since the day the Great Old One Touched him.

 

He’d known then. He’d known.

 

He’d been chosen.

 

The rain was still pouring; he’d just come in from it. But that seemed so strange now, as he watched the waters falling from the darkening sky, spilling the lights from street lamps onto the roads as though the things were melting off their sticks.

 

“Jelly babies in the summer sun...” he murmured flatly, suddenly remembering he had a tongue, which he then rolled thickly in his mouth. Touching his teeth. Memorizing them.

 

His feet carried him out the banging screen, out onto the water-plastered dark grass, down the path and into the shed behind the house, where they... were growing it.

 

Growing Her.

 

He flung open the two rusted doors on the shed, then ducked inside.

 

“Is this what you want? Do you want to be mine?” he asked her, waiting patiently, “...we must be sure now, Sweet...”

 

Then her answer came, a little soft flicker of phosphorescence along her bumpy sides.

 

Soon, she was a small mini fridge, then a toaster oven, then a...

 

“That’s good, little one, very good... but Daddy just got promoted to Head Priest, which should be more funny, really, and he could do with a proper Pipe Organ. Let me know when you can do that for Daddy, okay? There’s my good girl.”

 

He patted the shiny new lid of her hull, which has become a standing circular backyard grill.

 

Then he closed the doors again, and walked back into the dusty house, with all the dust and all its legs and its messengers scuttling around like little ants with airs.

 

He smiled.

 


	21. Chapter 21

“Here now, love,” said Jackie kindly as she shoved a plate and a cup in front of him, “... to wash those circles away under your eyes...”

 

The Doctor took the cup, waving his hand at whatever it was on the plate. He ran a hand through his hair, now a sweat-sticky mop of undead rabbit on steroids and uppers.

 

“I... can’t tolerate the food right now, Jackie... I’m sorry. Just give me the tea.”

 

Jackie Tyler’s pink hoodie sank a bit; her shoulders drooped. But she removed the plate. And as she took away that white, simple plate of cheese and biscuits, she watched the Doctor stare those peridot eyes out over Creation on the rim of a teacup full of nice warm mint.

 

“I did give you the tea, love...” she whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear. So she bent down, took his freezing fingers and wrapped them around the warm white of the teacup, carefully bending them here, teasing them through there, until those eyes fled sideways like lightning, and bubbled up again.

 

“Oh, ‘ello, Nut Loaf, didn’t see you there.”

 

“I know,” she murmured, scruffing a hand through his hair, “...and you say I’m the nut loaf. Well you’re the whole peanut, Doctor.”

 

 

 

“Peanuts aren’t really nuts, Jackie,” he muttered back in mock disapproval, shrugging into himself like a schoolboy blushing in front of his mum, “...they’re actually tubers, like potatoes, which don’t usually grow on trees unless they’re attached to a vine, but then you’ve got ‘...and I’m up now.’ Beat that, eh?”

 

His gaze flicked like a hummingbird over the sun outside, glinting on the metal table in the dining room behind him where he sat in the breakfast nook. He noticed.

 

“Where’s John?” he asked, rubbing the lines of his flat stomach and wondering about a great many more things than just how many days he’d been out and where the babies were and had they eaten yet and...

 

Only then did his gaze touch the abandoned plate on the counter behind Mrs. Tyler.

 

“...ah, I’m sorry. It looked lovely, but... I’ve things on my mind. I’m sor...”

 

Jackie’s finger found his mouth mid apology, and shut it for him.

 

“Don’t start that, sweetheart; you’ll never stop...” she said, smiling down at the silly man, who smiled back at her and then went softly back to looking out the window again.

 

But his eyes finished it for him; they always did.

 

“I’m sorry!” he added happily, bouncing a little in the chair and a slightly straightened spine, “Oh, my... that’s... rather embarrassing.”

 

“What is?” Jackie asked, looking confusedly at the Time Lord, who was busy undoing his buttons.

 

The Doctor looked up at her then, and his eyes were wholly different; orbs instead of pebbles, jewels instead of stones. Melons instead of gooseberries.

 

“I’m lactating, Chiich,” he breathed softly, his face suddenly smoother as a profound ancientness crept through his countenance like a bubbling brookwater, leaving lines around his eyes to dwarf the Llangernyw Yew.

 

Pointing to his shirt, the Doctor directed Jackie’s gaze to the wet lines of damp sogging their way down the white cotton.

 

“Oh, take that off then; I’ll go and get the twins, love- just sit right there,” Jackie murmured, rubbing his head one more time before shoving off to the room where she’d tucked the babies in for a little nap.

 

When she was gone, he reached to touch his tight close pectorals with their cold papilla, caressing them with his palms. Awestruck yet again, he began pinching slightly to bring more milk to the teats, then idly smearing the heavy cream flow on his fingertips as it trickled and rushed across his bare chest.

 

Five minutes later after he’d fed the twins, Rose was watching him, the twins full and asleep in her arms. He was standing sort of shakily with his hands pressed against his breasts, desperately cupping himself as his milk still poured out of him, into his hands, and spilled out onto the floor.

 

“I’m sorry for the mess,” he murmured, attempting to get up and swaying against the screen door that led to the side yard eating area, “...but I shouldn’t waste this, hold on...”

 

The moment the milk hit the grass, the Doctor hit it too, bruising a small patch of green lawn as he blacked out, sprawling like a mendicant in a fit across the rain-soaked portico.

 

The creamy milk then seeped into a bare patch where the neighbor’s dog had peed, and suddenly, there was a new patch of grass, poking up like little dancers in a stage show.

 

Jackie chose that moment, understandably, to call for her husband.

 


	22. Chapter 22

“I’m clumsy...” the Doctor murmured softly, as Jackie watched her husband Pete dab at the small smudge of red on the Time Lord’s forehead, “..sfff! Ow. It’s amazing how the tiny cuts hurt the worst.”

 

“I’ll say! The moment I think you’ve some grace in you, you go and do this!” Jackie muttered, mock-teasing him even as her dark eyebrows rose with such concern into her unbleached roots.

 

Naturally the Time Lord saw an opening, and pounced. “And while we’re on the subject of grace, Jackie... it wouldn’t kill you to do your roots again. They’re showing rather dark today.”

 

All at once, the interruption of a shadow moves across them, bucketing the daylight with a curtsy and proving once again, that a certain someone can still make an entrance.

 

“... he’s all right now...,” John says from behind them, with a hand over his forehead, covering his eyes, “... may I have a glass of...”

 

But then he uncovers them, drawing his hand so slowly down over his face.

 

There is a jewel there, at the meeting of his temples.

 

Dark, bright.

 

A resounding, infinite grey.

 

And his eyes, too, are different.

 

They are the same bright black. And swollen, a little. No whites, no sclera.

 

Strangely comforting.

 

“Well, it seems the irises have pulled,” the Doctor says in a flat tone, curling his brow in distinct disapproval with, perhaps, a sherry dash of wonder, “... how does it feel, to have merged with it?”

 

The black eyes then, slide over in their sockets, revealing two tiny, black beads, set in dull yellow-gray slits...

 

The jewel-like eyes of an Ood now glow from John’s face.

 

“THIS IS ALL WE REQUIRE, DOCTOR,” comes the Voice of the Old One from John’s lips, and John blinks smoothly, holding out the re-shrunk TARDIS chunk, like a supplicant. A bliss of tentacles from that same mouth follows the words, bubbling over from between John’s falling teeth, in a strange underwater spectacle of glistening nerve endings and squiggling limbs.

 

The Doctor stares, his hands unconsciously moving toward the chunk of TARDIS.

 

Trying to protect it?

 

Or... wanting to... share in the...

 

... mutual transformation?

 

Jackie, however, has a different reaction.

 

“... I get that it’s pie dough, but what’s it doing in my shed?”

 

John curves his fingers around the lump of TARDIS, forming a globe with his hands, and is instantly gone, leaving his teeth on the grass, and a pile of hair.

 


	23. Chapter 23

“Have you ever had an Ood sandwich, Michael?” Lucifer quips from behind his brother, popping up suddenly on a slightly shorter peak adjacent to the one the other Archangel is standing on.

 

“I hear they taste like chicken...,” Michael states, smiling down from his mountaintop.

 

Lucifer pouts, then pops up a little closer, poofing out and in so close now.

 

Close to his brother.

 

“I especially enjoy them with a bit of wasabi and spicy mustard, soundly wedged between two fire-toasted McGuffins...,” Lucifer adds, dipping his hand into his red bao dai.

 

Michael never sees the gleam of silver enter his back, like a palm frond.

 

“Happy New Year, Mikey,” Lucifer calls out, shoving his hands out over the rolling snowy peaks as tears trickle down to run over his small, plump bosom, “... I know a great restaurant in Hel’s Kitchen...”

 


	24. Chapter 24

“Come back here,” the Doctor says softly, staring straight forward as he drags a hand over his stomach, clutching the taut muscles there. “I do hope you intend to leave my Hosannah alone...”

 

He lets it dangle in the air as his only testament.

 

In reply, the sky opens up.

 

Clouds spill out of view.

 

Sunlight streams across the horizon, in little streams of illumining gold.

“OUR BARGAIN IS MADE, OLD MAN...” the Great Old One screams from the rooftops of the universe, bulking up for a big hurrah, somewhere, “... YOU HAVE GIVEN ME WHAT I HAVE ASKED OF YOU. IN RETURN... I GIVE YOU...”

 

A small, flat something falls from the opening in the clouds.

 

Buffeted, it teeters on the brink of marriage between high velocity winds and the scraping abruptness of gravity, all to flutter down and down, bouncing from breeze to breeze, nudged by a couple of birds.

 

It, being a special sort of painting, tipples to a stop at the Doctor’s feet, all ornate gold frame and red sky and daleks and Arcadia and all.

 

He reaches down, and lifts it up.

 

Then he gasps and looks at the sky again.

 

“But wait! What about my...”

 

“Relax, Uncle,” Lucifer murmurs in his ear, BAMFing in from Kilimanjaro with frost forming on his eyelashes, “... Hosannah is with the Winchesters and Jack. I just left there. I can... go and get them if you want?” The Devil points nonchalantly with his thumb in a random direction, winking over his shoulder.

 

“I KNOW THAT! I CAN SMELL THEM ON YOU, LUCY! I MEANT MY WIFE!” the Doctor squeals, running his hands through his hair and scrunching up his chin like a five year old. Jackie tries to pat his shoulder, but he bats her away.

 

“Oh, them,” Lucifer sighs, waving his hand. “River is with Castiel, in Jersey. In a hotel. She said something about... working out the kinks... Gabriel went off to get us some fish fingers and custard to celebrate. Tescoe’s, I think.”

 

The Doctor sighs, then raises his hand, and huffs a sentence. “Ah, all right then. Really though, I I meant my ex-wife-River that is. Thought she was already dead, but what do I know? Anyway, I need to give John his glass of water... let me just...”

 

His squarish fingers raise to his face, brushing water.

 

Suddenly, the clouds thicken into a roux, draining and pulling and squinting, their lumps flattening out beneath his fingertips.

 

He holds that hand higher, slowly opening his palm until the clouds drift apart, like lovers in the snow.

 

The heavy clouds give, breaking their water over the green grass and turning it to glistening down.

 

“And so does the newborn kill his father, and go to stand beside him!” the Doctor cries, holding up his other hand.

 

Suddenly there is a bright light, and a tumbler is clutched in his fist.

 

The rain fills it, crawling up the sides of the glass until the line hits the top and begins to tumble over, in a flood.

 

Raphael bamfs into place beside him, with Jack. Hosannah is in his arms.

 

As the Doctor stares up at the sky he’s called rain from, the angel claps loudly, waking the child, who cries in her waking, wiggling against Jack’s chest as he walks to the Doctor.

 

“Covenant it is then,” Raphael says. With a smile, he looks over at Lucifer, who grins with half a lip, then smacks his own bottom.

 

The Doctor takes Hosannah to his breast, and when Jackie and Rose bring the twins out to greet their sister, three little faces squeeze up in delight.

 

Jack reaches out and lays himself down across the Doctor’s back, and lies there, absorbing the sun and the rain in equal measure, feeling the Doctor breathe.

 

“Hey, daddy, mommy,” Lucifer says, laughing a little laugh at no one and nothing in particular as he stares hot Asian bullets at the newly-reunited couple and butts in with an arm around each, “... so what’s for dinner?”

 

END

 

 


End file.
